


Only When I'm Breathing

by CydSA



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Shapeshifting, Temporary Character Death, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CydSA/pseuds/CydSA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam comes back to Dean after dying for the last time. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to be with Dean, even if it means letting his brother forget him. If Dean <i>doesn’t</i> remember then Sam dies again, this time for good, and Dean will lose the only person who makes him willing to live. But the clock is ticking and they still need to solve a series of murders in a little town called Springfield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only When I'm Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-AU from the end of Season 5 – some parts are canon, others, not so much. Inspired by the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. 
> 
> beta by sbb23
> 
> written for big big bang 2012
> 
> art by evian_fork here: http://evian-fork.livejournal.com/120170.html

Sam lost Dean when he was three. Dean was seven.

Dean told Sam to stay and wait for him when he went into the store to look for Dad. 

Sam never listened to Dean anyway and wandered off to look at the puppies in the window of the pet shop. 

Dean didn’t come back. 

Sam went back to where he had been told to wait.

But Dean never came back.

A nice lady came up to Sam and asked him where his mommy was.

“She’s dead,” Sam said because he always tried to tell the truth and the lady’s face went all funny, sadness creeping into her eyes.

“And your daddy?” she asked.

Sam pointed in the direction his brother had gone. “Dean went to look for him.” He knew his Dad would find him. And Dean would be with him.

After a while, the lady called over a man in a uniform.

“What’s your dad’s name, son?” the man asked, crouched down next to Sam.

“John,” Sam said.

“And your surname?”

Sam had to think about that for a while. “Wesson,” he said eventually. It changed sometimes and Sam had a hard time remembering who he was. He knew his dad would be so mad if he told them the wrong name.

“Alrighty then,” the man in the uniform said, “let’s see if we can find your dad for you.”

Sam heard them announce his dad’s name and then he heard his dad shouting for him. Then his dad was there, hugging him tightly and told him to never, ever do that again.

“Where’s your brother, Sammy?” his dad asked.

Sam looked at him. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

John Winchester never forgave Sam for losing Dean.

***************

Sam found Dean again when he was fourteen. Dean was eighteen.

He was walking home from school when he heard the sound of brakes and spun around to look at the car speeding towards him.

It was a black car, looked like a classic to Sam’s untrained eye, and it was being chased by several cop cars with all their sirens blazing.

The guy at the wheel was grinning, eyes wild and he gave Sam a jaunty wave as he sped past. Sam felt something twist in his chest when he looked into green eyes.

He watched the car skid around the corner and the driver gunned her as he hit the main road running through Purgatory, Colorado.

He carried on towards home and was surprised when he spotted the black muscle car he’d seen being chased by the police parked in their driveway. He pushed the front door open and stopped.

His dad was standing in the middle of the living room, holding a stranger in his arms. 

“Dad?” his voice came out small and scared.

John pulled back and Sam got a closer look at the stranger. It was the same guy with the green eyes smiling hard at him. He was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen.

“Sam, come and meet Dean.” John held out a hand and waved Sam closer. “He’s your brother,” John added, completely unnecessarily. 

Sam stood his ground, unsure of this man, this Dean. “I thought you said…” he looked at John.

“I told you he was dead,” John nodded, “because I didn’t want you to think…” he trailed off and his jaw went tight.

“I’m Dean,” the stranger, his brother said, and held out a hand. “I’ve been trying to find you for most of my life, Sammy.”

“I remember you,” Sam said and his heart gave a strange little leap.

Sam took Dean’s hand and there was a moment when things went gray around him and the only color he could see was that of Dean’s eyes and Dean’s mouth. He stared at Dean, held his hand and watched his entire world change forever.

***************

Sam left Dean when he was eighteen. Dean was twenty-two.

The fights with John got worse and worse, and Sam didn’t want this life anymore. He didn’t want to chase demons and vampires and werewolves. He wanted normal. 

Dean wasn’t normal.

How Sam felt about Dean was sure as fuck not normal. 

So he left.

John told him not to come back. Dean took him to the bus station and hugged him. He shoved a roll of bills in Sam’s pocket, stuck his hands in his own pockets and watched Sam leave. Sam didn’t look back.

He went to Stanford and started planning for eventually getting his law degree. He spent most of the first year trying to fit in. The second year he forgot about fitting in and just lived in every moment. The third year he met Jessica Moore and they moved into an apartment together. He missed Dean every single day.

“Sometimes I think you don’t even see me,” Jessica said one night after they’d made love. A thin film of sweat covered their bodies and Sam felt almost complete.

Sam turned to look at her, confused. “I see you all the time,” he protested.

“Not really,” Jess said and her smile was sad. “It’s like there’s always someone in the way when we’re together. Like there’s someone you would prefer to have in your bed. Someone who’s already in your heart.”

Sam went cold. “That’s not true,” he assured her.

“It’s okay,” she put her head against his shoulder and was all soft, sweet-smelling girl. “I’m working on being first.”

***************

Dean came back for Sam when he was twenty-six. Sam was twenty-two.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean leaned against the doorway and every emotion that Sam had spent the last eight years of his life suppressing came rushing back.

“Dad’s missing,” Dean said and Sam gathered his things and climbed into the Impala and left his normal life behind.

Nothing would stop him this time. 

Not Jess dying, not John dying, not Sam dying, not Dean dying. 

It was Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam. Everyone knew they came as a pair. “Erotically co-dependent,” someone once said. It made no difference to them. 

Sam didn’t need normal anymore. Dean was all he needed. And Dean only needed him. 

Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam.

***************

Sam died when he was thirty. Dean was thirty-four.

He hated Heaven. Hated anything that took him away from Dean. Nothing they said could convince Sam that he was supposed to be without Dean.

He spent a lot of time gazing into the river of waters of life, watching Dean spiral down as he tried to find Sam, tried to save Sam, tried to move on without Sam.

Azrael’s eyes were kind. “He will eventually be fine without you,” he told Sam.

Sam watched Dean drinking. “Dean has _never_ been fine without me,” he said. Azrael was a constant presence. Sam often wondered whether Azrael knew he was a bodyguard. A last line of defense against whatever shit a Winchester could come up with in Heaven. 

“You know you can’t go back again,” Azrael said. “Not this time.”

“I don’t want to be here without him,” Sam replied and he looked at the angel. “I know how life was without him and I don’t want to be anywhere without him ever again.”

“What would you have me do?” Azrael spread his hands. “I can’t kill him; it isn’t his time. I can’t send you back; your time is over.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said and stared at Dean, heart breaking at the sorrow he felt emanating from his brother. His sense of hopelessness was a palpable thing. “I just know I need to be there.” He pointed to the chair at the other end of the rickety table. Dean had placed an open bottle of beer where Sam should have been sitting.

“Sam,” Azrael began. 

“I’ll take it from here,” a new voice broke in and Sam looked around. 

“Chuck?” he asked disbelievingly.

The former prophet of the Lord smiled at him. “I’m a little higher up on the food chain these days, Sam,” he said, and Sam realized that Chuck had read his thoughts. Chuck’s suit was pristine white and hurt Sam’s eyes a little, but the slightly crazy eyes and messy beard belonged to the same guy who’d written stories about Sam and Dean Winchester what felt like forever ago.

“Huh,” Sam said and waited.

“I’m sort of what you’d call God,” Chuck told him and Sam’s mouth dropped open.

“Seriously?” he asked. “When did that happen?”

“Promotion,” Chuck nodded. “It’s good to see you again, Sam Winchester.” His smile faded a little as he looked at Dean. “He’s not doing so well, is he?”

Sam shook his head. “He and I, we…” his voice broke. “We don’t have the best track record when we’re apart,” he admitted.

Chuck put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m guessing you want me to intervene here?”

Sam nodded and felt his eyes burn. “I love him,” he said and it was simple truth. “I can’t think of a world where my brother isn’t next to me.”

Chuck sighed. “Dean is alive, Sam. You’re not.” It was that simple and that complicated. Honestly though, Sam didn’t give a fuck.

“We were supposed to die together this time,” he said and hunched his shoulders when Dean poured another shot of whiskey. “He’s going to drink himself into an early grave,” he muttered.

“Your time was never Dean’s,” Chuck said and Sam whirled on him.

“Don’t you fucking tell me about my time!” he shouted and pointed back at Dean. “I died and now I get to watch my brother killing himself little by little every fucking day!”

Chuck’s eyes were sad. “Sometimes you just can’t save them all, Sam.”

Sam rushed forward and grabbed Chuck by the lapels of his pristine white jacket. “I don’t care about anyone else but Dean,” he growled. “Fix him or I swear I will make so much trouble you’ll have to throw me out of here.”

One of Chuck’s hands came up and patted Sam’s cheek. “You were always the strongest,” he said and pried Sam’s hands away. “Everyone thought it was Dean.”

Sam felt the tears then, hot and scalding against his cheeks. “Please,” he whispered, “I’ve never asked you for anything.”

Chuck threw back his head, laughing heartily, “Please, you Winchesters are _always_ demanding things of me,” he pointed out.

“We never asked for anything selfish,” Sam amended, and Chuck nodded his agreement. “Make him forget me, please.”

Chuck stared, nonplussed. “You want me to erase his memories of you?”

“Yes,” Sam nodded, “that’s the only way that Dean will ever live to his next birthday.”

“That’s…” Chuck stopped, “that’s about the noblest thing I think I’ve heard in a thousand years.”

Sam shook his head. “I love my brother. I just want him to live,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Make him stop being so sad all the time. Maybe if he had no memory of me he’d get out there,” he waved a hand in the general direction of the world. “I just want him to live,” he repeated.

“And your memories of him?”

Sam shrugged. “I wouldn’t give them up for anything.”

Chuck stared at Dean again. “You’ve died and come back more times than any human, you and your brother,” he said and it sounded like he was talking to himself. “You’ve cheated Death, cheated me.”

“Not really much I can do about that,” Sam looked at Chuck. “No one ever asked me if I wanted to come back. Dean and I would have been okay being left in Heaven that one time if we hadn’t left unfinished business on earth.”

Chuck sighed. “And now you’re asking me to either send you back or wipe you from his mind.”

“Yes,” Sam said. “I think you owe me at least this one thing.”

“I really don’t,” Chuck said. “Let me think about it,” and disappeared.

***************

Sam came back from the dead when he was thirty-one. Dean was thirty-five.

He knocked on Dean’s front door and smiled when he opened it. “Hey.” He wanted to grab Dean and hold him close. HE wanted to lean in and smell the unique combination of leather and sweat and Dean and if that made him a creepy stalker type then so be it.

“Hey,” Dean said in that careful way that Sam knew meant ‘I have a gun and I know how to use it’.

“I don’t think you’ll remember me,” Sam began, “but we used to know each other a long time ago.” He had to be careful what he said, what he shared.

Dean looked at him. “I’ve never met you before,” he said and it was definite.

“I knew John Winchester,” Sam said and Dean went stiff.

“Not possible,” Dean stepped back and made to close the door.

Sam put a put in the door to stop him. “My name is Sam.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know any Sam,” he told Sam.

“I was named after your grandfather, Samuel,” Sam tried again.

Dean’s mouth was tight. “I don’t know you,” he repeated and the hint of anger warned Sam that he was about to get his ass whipped.

“I’ve missed you so much, Dean,” Sam told him. Just seeing Dean, Sam was unable to resist telling him. 

Dean punched him in the face.

***************

The hospital emergency room was crowded and Sam held his jacket to his nose, tipping his head back. He watched Dean out of the corner of his eye. His brother was twitchy and on edge and he kept standing up, pacing and then sitting back down next to Sam again.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said for the tenth time. Dean hated apologizing for anything. It was one of his least attractive qualities.

“It’s okay,” Sam’s reply was muffled by the fabric of his jacket. “I know how you feel about hospitals. You don’t have to stay.”

Dean stared at him, shook his head. “How the fuck do you know anything about me, when I can’t ever remember seeing you in my life?”

“I can’t tell you,” Sam said and his chest hurt. He wanted to reach out and grab Dean, hold him close and tell him everything, but he’d made a promise to Chuck. This was the only way.

“I…” Dean stood up when a nurse approached them. “It’s about time!” he exclaimed and scowled when she ignored him and went straight to Sam.

“That looks like it hurts,” she said and pulled Sam’s hand away from his face. “Well, it doesn’t look like it’s broken, but we’ll get you x-rayed just in case.”

Dean went pale and looked down at his hands. “Sorry,” he mumbled again.

Sam wanted to reassure him but the nurse was hustling him through to a room where a doctor was waiting. He turned once to look at Dean. “You’ll wait for me?” he asked. It felt like he’d been asking that question all his life

Dean nodded. “Yeah,” he said. And Sam believed him.

The x-rays showed no break, just a slight contusion, and the doctor put a strip across the bridge of Sam’s nose and sent him on his way with some high-dosage pain killers. “You’ll be as right as rain in no time,” the doctor told him as they walked back out to the waiting room where Dean was flipping through an old magazine.

“What does that even mean?” Sam asked Dean as they headed out.

“What?” Dean sounded distracted.

“Right as rain,” Sam said. “What does that mean? How is rain right anyway?”

Dean shrugged and walked to the driver’s seat of the Impala. “Who the hell knows, Sammy,” he said.

Sam leaned against the closed passenger door, taking several deep breaths. _Sammy_. Dean had called him _Sammy_. He didn’t know if he was going to be able to pull this off.

Dean shoved the door open and looked up at Sam. “You coming?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam climbed in and Dean punched the radio. Led Zeppelin blasted out at him and he tried not to flinch. “Stuck in the past a little?” he asked.

“Driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole,” Dean pointed a finger at him. It was like fucking déjà vu.

Sam made a zipped lips motion and Dean nodded in satisfaction. 

Dean started the car and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. “So, where can I drop you?” Dean asked. He flicked a side glance at Sam. “I didn’t see a car at my place.”

“I just got into town,” Sam admitted. “I hadn’t really found anywhere yet.” 

The traffic was light and Sam couldn’t stop flicking glances over at Dean. He looked good, healthy. Sam was glad to see that whatever Chuck had changed, Dean had benefited.

“You got any suggestions about a cheap motel?” Sam asked as they hit the highway.

Dean shook his head. “This isn’t a cheap town,” he said. “Even my place, shitty as it is, costs a fucking fortune in rent.”

Sam leaned his head back against the car seat and let the pain medication relax him any further. “Shit,” he said. “I don’t know how much…” He stopped, wondering if his money or his time would run out first. Chuck hadn’t given him a deadline. He’d just told him that he didn’t have long.

Dean’s silence was heavy and then he said, “I’ve got a pullout sofa you can use.” He shook his head with a short laugh. “I don’t know what the fuck it is about you, but I know there’s something…”

“I don’t need to stay with you,” Sam said and he kept his voice low and determined. “But I’m not going away again.”

“Again?” Dean looked sharply at him. “You been somewhere before?”

Sam cursed the slip of tongue and sighed. “Yeah, a long time ago but I can’t …”

Dean lifted a hand off the steering wheel. “I know, you can’t tell me anything about it.” He gave Sam a look. “This goes on much longer it’s going to get pretty old, pretty fast.”

Sam grinned. The tone of exasperated annoyance was one that he recognized. “Uh-huh,” he agreed.

When they pulled up in front of Dean’s apartment building, Sam waited as Dean switched the engine off and didn’t get out of the car.

“This is fucking insane,” Dean shook his head and muttered. His eyes were very hard on Sam. “I don’t know who the fuck you are but somehow it feels like I know you.”

Sam felt his heart beat faster and was sure that Dean could hear the loud lub-dub in the quiet of the Impala. “You know me, you’ve known me for a very long time,” he agreed. “But you have to work this out on your own, Dean.”

Dean climbed out and headed for the stairs. He stopped when Sam didn’t follow him. “You coming?”

Sam scrambled to race up the stairs after him. “I wasn’t sure if I was welcome,” he admitted.

Dean bumped his shoulder. “I almost broke your nose, man. I’d be a pretty fucking asshole to begrudge you a bed for the night.”

The apartment was small and utilitarian. Sam took a moment and looked around. It was one bedroom, a bathroom, a small kitchen and a sitting room about the size of a postcard. 

Dean’s shoulders hunched a little. “It’s not much,” he said. He sounded very much not like Dean just then, as though he needed to apologize for his life.

“No!” Sam wanted to reach out, touch him. “It’s more than we…you’ve had in the past.”

Dean straightened up and his eyes narrowed. He looked as though he wanted to say something else but he went to the fridge and pulled out two beers. “I don’t get it,” he said, offering one to Sam. “You keep saying this shit and it’s like you know me, like you’ve known me for years, but there’s nothing about you that’s familiar.”

Sam hoped that Dean was lying, that there was at least _something_ about him that made _some_ part of Dean’s brain start screaming. If he was telling the truth, then Sam may as well have not come back.

Sam concentrated on taking a deep sip of his beer. He couldn’t say all the things that he wanted to say and it was killing him. Chuck had known exactly what he was doing to Sam when he’d laid down the conditions of his return to the living.

“What _can_ you tell me then?” Dean asked after a long silence. He leaned back against one of the kitchen counters.

Sam looked at him. Dean was still the most beautiful thing in Sam’s world. “I can tell you that you were and are the most important person in my life,” he replied. “I can tell you that I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

Dean frowned. “We didn’t..?” He made a crude gesture with his fist and Sam flushed.

He shook his head. “No, that’s not who we were,” Sam admitted.

Dean nodded. “I don’t think I’d forget being with someone like you,” he mused and took a pull of his beer, eyes never moving from Sam. “You’re definitely the kind of guy I go for.”

Sam choked on his beer. He’d always known that Dean had an extremely fluid sense of sexuality. Whatever it took to scratch the itch had been enough for him. But the thought of Dean like that, with him, made every cell in his body go hot. It wasn’t something he’d allowed himself to think about. Dean was his brother. It hadn’t ever been like that between them.

“I don’t…I mean, I’m not…” Sam stuttered.

Dean waved a hand. “I get it, man. You’re not gay.” He smiled and Sam felt himself shaking. “That’s okay.”

“I like guys!” Sam blurted and went red.

Dean looked puzzled. “So I guess that means I’m not _your_ type then?”

Sam stared at him. “You don’t know anything about me and you’re hitting on me?” Everything Sam had loved and hated about Dean was racing back, his inability to talk about his emotions, his easy morality, his fluid sex appeal.

Dean shrugged. “It’s been a while,” he told Sam. “You’re hot; you’re here.”

Sam wanted to. More than anything else, he wanted to step into Dean’s space and kiss him and then fuck him and never let him go. “No,” he said quietly. “I can’t. It wouldn’t be right, not until you remember.”

Dean scowled and drank the last of the beer. “Your loss,” he said and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “The sofa is there,” he pointed to an ugly green monstrosity that seemed to crouch in the corner of the sitting room. “Linen is inside the closet in my room.”

Sam nodded. “Thanks.” 

“You’d better give me that,” Dean pointed at Sam’s shirt. “There’s blood everywhere.”

Sam looked down. Dried blood had crusted across the front of his shirt. He smiled. “Thanks,” he said again and shrugged out of the button-down. 

“T-shirt too,” Dean made an impatient gesture. 

“Uh,” Sam said. 

Dean rolled his eyes and it was almost too much for Sam to take. This was _his_ Dean. This sarcastic, impatient, suffer-no-fools Dean. “I’ll get you one of my tees if you’re worried about your virtue,” he said and stomped into the bedroom. He came out a moment later and thrust a grey shirt at Sam. “Now come on, princess, give me your shirt. It’s not like I’ve never seen a bare chest before.”

Sam pulled the t-shirt off, allowing his grin to widen as he pulled it over his head. 

Dean took it with a grimace and went to a basket over-flowing with clothing. “I guess that just means I have to do a load of laundry tonight.”

“You have a laundry room here?” Sam asked. The t-shirt was soft, well-washed and smelled of Dean.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, in the basement. At least I only have to pay for the soap.” He lifted the basket. “You want to come with me?”

Sam took a moment to think about how to respond, but at the end of it, there was no other choice. “Yeah,” he put his bottle down. “I’ll keep you company.” He wasn’t going to let Dean out of his sight unless strictly necessary. He remembered his lessons as a child. Don’t lose sight of Dean, he might not come back. Plus, he wasn’t sure what Chuck had put into place. Right now, he wasn’t prepared to take the chance. 

Besides, he’d missed his brother.

The basement was surprisingly well-lit, with three washers and two dryers. Dean separated the whites and colors efficiently and Sam watched him. Everything about Dean seemed new, unfamiliar but at the same time it was almost like déjà vu.

“You keep staring at me,” Dean noted without turning around.

“Sorry,” Sam said and ducked his head, forcing his gaze away.

“That’s okay,” Dean told him as he started the first machine up. “I don’t know why, but I don’t mind.”

Sam swallowed hard, clenched his hands into fists to stop reaching for Dean. “You don’t know me,” he reminded Dean.

Dean started the second washer and walked over to where Sam was slouching against the wall. “Yeah, I kinda think I do, Sammy.” His voice was low and gruff and it made Sam shiver.

Dean reached out and ran a hand over Sam’s cheek. “This face,” he murmured.

“It’s just a face,” Sam whispered but he didn’t pull away.

“I think I’ve seen this face in my dreams.” It sounded as though Dean was talking to himself.

“Dean…” Sam said - and Dean kissed him.

Sam froze. Dean’s mouth was hot and urgent and Sam just wanted to give himself over to Dean. He kept his hands still and let Dean kiss him. It was beautiful and terrible. Wonderful and awful. Sam never wanted it to end.

Eventually Dean pulled back and stared at him. They were both breathing a little harder and Dean’s mouth was shiny and swollen. “Wow,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed and he couldn’t stop his hand from touching Dean’s mouth. “God, Dean, please.”

“You said we weren’t like this?” Dean asked as he stepped away.

“No,” Sam shook his head. “Maybe if we were then…” He wouldn’t let himself finish the thought. “But we can’t, not until you remember.”

Dean made an impatient noise. “Fuck’s sake, just tell me already so that we can get on with it!”

Sam wanted to. He wanted to tell Dean that he loved him and would never leave him again but he’d made a promise and if he broke it he would lose Dean forever. “No,” he said. “It’s against the rules.” The risk was too great.

“Fuck the rules!” Dean spat. He glared at Sam. “You know what I am?”

“Yeah,” Sam confessed. “We’re the same, you and I.”

Dean stopped. “You’re a hunter?” he asked.

“All my life,” Sam said. 

“Then why the fuck don’t I remember you?” It was question and demand and command and Sam wanted nothing more than to tell Dean everything. Promise him anything.

“Because that’s the way it works, Dean.” Sam could hear the despair in his own voice.

Dean’s expression wasn’t pretty. “Fine, keep your fucking secrets. Just be out in the morning.” He left Sam there in the basement with the soft whir-hum of the washers. 

Sam slid down the wall and made a low noise of grief.

“He’s just frustrated, Sam.” Azrael was a warm presence next to him a moment later.

“So am I.” Sam dropped his head onto his knees and sighed. “This is so much harder than I thought it would be.”

The line of Azrael’s body pressed warm against his side. “Anything worth fighting for is worth dying for.”

Sam lifted his head and glared. “Seriously?” he asked. “You’re going to soothe my angry soul with fucking platitudes?”

Azrael grinned. “It was worth a try,” he admitted and Sam gave a short laugh.

“Dean was right,” he muttered. “Angels are assholes.”

Azrael laughed. “We’ve had millennia to perfect our craft.” 

Sam tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “He doesn’t have a clue who I am,” he told Azrael.

“That _was_ the deal,” the angel pointed out.

“It’s just hard.” Sam felt his throat close. “He kissed me.” He wasn’t sure why he told Azrael that.

“I saw that,” said Azrael, this time a little kinder.

“What do I do now?” Sam turned his head and met Azrael’s dark eyes. “He’s my brother.”

Azrael reached out a hand and touched his knee. “You know share a Heaven, Sam. What does that tell you?”

Sam flinched, remembered being in Heaven with Dean. He remembered Ash and the roadhouse. Then the race to find Cas, and it all just hurt. “We’re soul mates,” he whispered and it was the first time he’d admitted it out loud. Up until this moment, he’d keep it buried deep inside, polishing the knowledge occasionally when things seemed beyond hope.

“Heaven isn’t just for the pious,” Azrael said. “It’s for all those who are weary in soul and searching for something more.”

“I’m not looking,” Sam said.

“I know,” Azrael smiled and patted Sam’s knee. “It’s why you were allowed to return.” His grin turned mischievous. “I’m rooting for you and Dean.”

“What?” Sam stared at Azrael. “What does that mean?”

Azrael stared at him and Sam saw endless stars in those deep eyes. “The Lord has granted you one more chance, Sam Winchester. He doesn’t do that for just anyone.”

“But Dean doesn’t know me,” Sam protested and he could hear the whine in his tone.

“Of course he does. He knows you in the deepest core of him.” Azrael shook his head. “But he needs you to help him remember. Don’t disappoint me, Sam.”

Sam blinked and Azrael was gone.

“Who were you talking to?” Dean’s question made Sam start and he looked up to see Dean at the door of the basement. 

“Um,” Sam said and Dean scowled.

“Fine, whatever,” he muttered and stalked back to the washer.

Sam clambered to his feet. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ to tell you, Dean,” he tried and Dean held up a hand.

“I know, you _can’t_ tell me,” he said. He sounded frustrated but not really angry.

“It’s the truth,” Sam said. He needed Dean to understand…He needed Dean to remember.

“Or what?” Dean asked. “If you tell me who you really are and where I know you from, what will happen?”

Sam opened his mouth and then closed it again. Dean’s mouth went tight and he turned away from Sam.

“It’s like Orpheus,” Sam blurted and Dean tilted his face towards him again.

“What?” Dean looked as confused as Sam felt.

“You know the legend of Orpheus in the Underworld?” Sam asked.

“Greek myth, dead chick, boyfriend went to get her back, failed,” Dean summarized and Sam snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Sam said. 

Dean tipped his head. “So are you the dead chick or the boyfriend on the harp?” he asked.

Sam shook his head. “That’s the part I can’t tell you,” he said.

He waited for Dean to bitch again but he didn’t. Dean just watched him, eyes intent on his face. “The one thing I’ve got from this insane night is that you care about me,” Dean said eventually.

“More than anything,” Sam admitted.

Dean just nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Then we take it one day at a time.” He smiled. “It’s not like you’re going anywhere, right?”

Sam felt a cold shiver skid down his spine. “Right.” He forced a grin. “Not planning on it.”

Dean nodded again. “Cool,” he said and turned back to the washer. 

Sam felt all of the blood drain from his face. He was going to run out of time.

***************

Sam woke up the next morning on the pull-out sofa, neck cricked and back aching. He moaned a little when he stood up, every muscle protesting. Sam Winchesters were not built to sleep on tiny sofa beds.

He heard Dean’s voice low and muffled coming from the bedroom and he wanted to go in, fall on the bed and hold Dean as tightly as he possibly could. He put the coffee maker on instead.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, leaning in the doorway, fingers scratching idly at his belly.

Sam couldn’t look away from that patch of skin. 

“Hey,” he rasped and lifted his gaze to stare at Dean. The expression on his brother’s face was almost feral.

“You sleep okay?” Dean kept the conversation bland.

Sam started to say yes but something made him shake his head. “The sofa’s a little small,” he replied.

Dean snorted. “You’re built like a Yeti, dude; you probably need everything to come in extra-large.” He stopped and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Now that just sounded dirty.”

Sam couldn’t help himself. He walked over to where Dean was standing and leaned into his space. Dean didn’t move. “I’m a big guy,” Sam told him.

Dean looked up at him, eyes wide and pupils dark. “That you are, Sammy.” 

Sam bent his head before he thought about it and nipped at Dean’s bottom lip. “I’m all in proportion too,” he whispered into Dean’s mouth. Suddenly Dean’s hands were fisted in his hair and he was being devoured.

Kissing Dean was like holding lightning. Sam’s body lit up and shook and he thought he might have blacked out for a moment.

He made a protesting sound when Dean pulled back. “This isn’t smart,” Dean told him.

“That’s the one thing we agree on right now,” Sam said and moved back. “This is already so fucking complicated. I shouldn’t make it worse.” He wanted more though and wondered what that said about him.

“ _We_ shouldn’t make it worse,” Dean corrected him.

Sam nodded. “You’re absolutely right.” He turned back to the coffee and handed Dean a cup.

“You know how I like my coffee,” Dean said.

Sam smiled. “I know everything about you, Dean. Probably some things you won’t even remember.”

“Put your money where your mouth is then, dude,” Dean challenged. “Tell me something about myself that only I would know.”

Sam leaned against the counter behind him, wondering what he could use to convince Dean without giving everything away.

“Okay,” he said eventually, “You made your first sawed-off shotgun in sixth grade.”

Dean’s eyes went wide and then flat. “How the fuck did you know that?” he demanded.

Sam tensed up, watching Dean’s fists. “I told you, Dean, I know everything about you.” He waited for the punch. It never came.

Dean visibly forced himself to relax. “Yeah, you _did_ say that,” he said, nodding. “So are you psychic then?”

Sam shook his head and then stopped. “For a while I was,” he admitted and shrugged. “Then it went away.”

“It went…” Dean stared. “You’re probably about the strangest person I’ve ever met and dude, I’ve met angels and demons; I’ve met fucking Lucifer himself!” 

Sam grinned despite himself. “You have no idea, Dean.” He finished his coffee. “But you’ve only ever really believed in two psychics, Missouri and Pamela.”

Dean closed his mouth with a snap. “Seriously, stop it,” he ordered. Sam turned to rinse out his mug and noticed that his hands were shaking. “That’s fucking creepy. You sound like a stalker.” Dean sounded angry all over again.

Sam’s laugh was humorless. “Trust me, when you remember, you’ll realize that you’re just as bad as I am.” He willed himself to stop talking. This was treading into dangerous waters.

“So what happens if I remember?” Dean watched him carefully and Sam tried to control his muscles from tensing up. It was Dean though and he’d always been too aware of Sam’s every move. “Can you tell me that?”

Sam shook his head, not looking at Dean, “No, I’m sorry.”

Dean nodded, almost to himself. “Does anyone else know who you are?”

Sam let his gaze flick to Dean who didn’t stop staring. “No, none of them remember me. That was part of -.” He stopped. “No,” he said.

“And you know them all? Bobby? Ellen? Jo? Cas?” The last three names made Sam’s stomach twist.

“Ellen? Jo?” He spun around. “They’re alive?”

Dean tried to step away but Sam was right up in his face, wild-eyed and urgent. “Yeah,” he said instead. 

Sam stumbled back, grabbing onto the kitchen counter. “Oh my god, they’re alive,” he breathed and felt his heart give a happy skip. At least _something_ was better in this fucked-up alternate reality.

“You’re talking as though….” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You thought they were dead,” his voice was flat.

Sam blinked. “I…yes.” 

Dean folded his arms. “And Cas?”

Sam allowed himself a smile. “Your own personal angel of the Lord?” He tilted his head. “How is he doing?”

“Cas is Cas,” Dean said as he shrugged. “One part angel, one part virgin, all around pain in my ass.”

Sam laughed. “I’m glad some things haven’t changed.”

Dean gave a wry smile. “He’s pretty busy trying to keep the heavenly host in line so I don’t get to hang much with him these days but he still manages to make time for me in a crisis. I haven’t seen him for a while though.”

“The Cas I know will always make time for you, Dean,” Sam assured him. Being in eaven with Cas had been painful and frustrating. Somehow being around Cas had made him miss Dean even more and that made no sense at all. Cas was so different from Dean. But he was a part of Sam’s life, had been for a few years now.

“How did you meet Cas?” Dean asked, eyes curious.

“I met him when you came back from Hell,” Sam said, careful to avoid saying too much.

“This is making me fucking crazy!” Dean slammed his hand down on the counter. “You know everything about me and I know nothing about you and you’re not telling me anything!”

Dean’s characteristic impatience made Sam’s mouth curve. “All I can say is that I’m here to find my way back to you. It all depends on whether you want to be found.”

“Enough with the fucking cryptic already!” Dean pointed a finger at him. “Tell me who you are!”

“I’m Sam.”

“Sam who?”

“You can call me Sam Wesson.”

“That’s what my….” Dean stopped and shook his head. “Father?” he looked at Sam. “No, that’s not right.”

Sam felt something like hope curl around his heart. 

“You….” Dean’s mouth went tight. “I know that name.” He stalked into the living room, spinning in a frustrated circle. “Why do I know that name?” 

Sam followed slowly, not letting his emotions show on his face. As in Hell, time passed differently in Heaven. He’d only been there for about a year in human terms but it had been centuries in heavenly time. He’d learned to keep his feelings hidden. 

“From my past, I was a kid.…” Dean turned to look at him, eyes intent. “Who _are_ you?” 

“Yours,” Sam said. It was that simple, that complicated, that true.

Dean came towards him, something a little feral in his gaze. “You’ve had me tied in knots since the moment I met you,” he accused Sam.

“I’m not sorry,” Sam admitted, feeling the heat of Dean’s body like a brand against him. 

“I can see that.” Dean’s mouth quirked. “I feel that I should do something about it, about you.”

Sam shrugged. “Whatever you want, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes blazed hot and he pressed his mouth against Sam’s. “What if I want everything?” he murmured against Sam’s lips.

“I’ll give it,” Sam said. His breath sped up as he felt himself melting into Dean.

“Tell me who you are,” Dean begged.

“I can’t,” Sam groaned. “God, you don’t play fair.” Dean’s hands were on his hips, pushing under his shirt, running over his abdomen and chest.

“My dad taught me never to play by the rules.” Dean nipped at Sam’s lower lip and Sam opened for him. “Demons don’t.”

Sam leaned back against the wall, taking Dean’s full weight against him. They were both hard, both wanting this, but Sam didn’t want Dean to regret anything about them. “No,” he agreed, “but this is too important, _you’re_ too important to fuck up with sex.”

Dean pulled back. “I don’t understand what you want from me.” His voice was hoarse and his breathing was choppy.

“I want you to remember,” Sam said and pushed himself away. “Now, is there a case you’re working on that I can help with?”

Dean watched him for a moment and then finally nodded. “Yeah, I’m hunting a shape shifter at the moment and it looks like it has serious daddy issues.”

Sam waited, eyebrows raised.

“The thing seems to be killing off fathers who aren’t pulling their weight with their kids,” Dean explained.

“So it’s murdering abusive fathers?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “And absentee dads, losers who aren’t paying child support, drunk fathers, the list goes on.”

Sam went to the laptop on the coffee table without thinking and started a search. He stopped when he realized where he was and who he was with. “Sorry,” he said with a blush. 

Dean waved a hand. “Go ahead, knock yourself out. That’s the part of hunting that I seriously don’t enjoy.”

“Yeah,” Sam smiled as he turned back to his task, “I know.”

Dean puffed out a breath. “Dude, if we’re going to work together, you gotta stop saying shit like that, okay?”

Sam closed his eyes, angry with himself for slipping. “Sorry,” he said again, “I’ll work on it.”

Dean sat next to him on the sofa and pointed to a couple of news reports. “See, it’s been moving around from town to town, but staying in the state.”

Sam noticed the pattern too. “Maybe something’s keeping it here?” he suggested.

Dean looked at him. “Like what?” he asked.

“Well,” Sam said, leaning back, “Maybe it has a life here, in a skin suit that isn’t the one it’s using to kill the men.”

Dean stared at the screen. “Like a family or something?”

Sam thought about it. “Yeah,” he admitted, “that could make sense.” He pointed at the reports’ “It’s got a life it has to go back to so it can’t go far.”

Dean took over the thought, “Maybe it’s a traveling salesman or something, you know, someone who can go away for a couple of days without anyone thinking anything hinky is going on.”

“Hinky?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s a word?”

Dean flushed a little. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Hinky is totally a word, or should be.”

“Do you have a map of the state?” Sam asked, letting Dean’s word choices slide for now.

Dean got up and went into his room, coming back out quickly with a folded map. “I’ve marked the sites where the guys were murdered,” he said. Sam moved the laptop out of the way so that Dean could spread the map across the table.

Dean had marked seven sites, all circled in red. Sam took a marker and started joining the sites in a wheel so that eventually there was a central point where all the lines met. “That’s where we start,” he told Dean.

“I’ve never known a shifter to stick to one place,” Dean said.

“There was one -” Sam stopped when Dean looked at him. “It had a kid and it moved heaven and earth to get to it.”

“Huh,” Dean said and tapped the map where Sam was pointing. “So, Springfield it is then.”

***************************

Sam gave Dean directions to Springfield from the GPS on his iPhone. Dean had taken one look at the phone and made a scoffing noise. “That little piece of technology would last about five minutes with me.”

Sam tightened his fingers protectively around the phone. “I can't imagine my life without it,” he admitted. Then he slanted a glance at Dean. “I should maybe get your number,” he said. “You know, just in case.”

Dean met his gaze with a steady one of his own. “Put your number in my phone & I'll give you a missed call.”

Sam bit his lip. “Where's your phone?”

The low rumble of the Impala was the only sound Sam could hear apart from the beating of his heart when Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Here,” Dean said and handed it to him. 

The mobile was still warm from Dean's body heat and Sam had an insane urge to raise it to his cheek and hold it there, somehow letting the warmth from Dean seep into the icy cage that he felt his soul becoming. He avoided Dean's stare as he punched in the numbers to his mobile and then gave himself a missed call.

He passed the phone back to Dean who shoved it back into his pocket. Sam decided to focus on doing more research. Anything to distract himself from the temptation to just reach over and touch Dean. He browsed Wikipedia for a bit, not finding anything new on shifters.

Dean reached down on the door side. He came up with a battered leather-bound book that Sam recognized instantly. He barely stopped himself from blurting out “Dad's journal” before Dean handed it to him.

“This belonged to my father,” Dean said and the tone of almost resentful reverence hadn't changed.

Sam took it carefully. It felt like forever since they'd shared insights from John Winchester's journal. “Yeah,” he said and his voice was rough and a little broken. “I know what this is.”

Dean's mouth tightened. “Sammy,” he said warningly.

“Sorry,” Sam said and opened to the pages on shifter lore, his memory infallible.

“God, that's fucking freaky,” Dean hissed, seeing Sam's knowledge of the journal so obviously.

“I....” Sam felt helpless.

Dean waved his hand. “Whatever,” he muttered. 

The silence was uncomfortable, both of them wanting to say something, anything, but with Dean being stubborn and Sam being muzzled; it meant that neither said a word.

Dean put on some Led Zeppelin and beat his fingers against the steering wheel, ignoring Sam as he read through his father’s words. 

Sam felt the familiar lump in his throat as he ran his finger over John Winchester’s untidy handwriting. He had spent most of his life loving and hating his father in equal measure. Having that larger-than-life presence taken away so suddenly had broken something in him. And in Dean.

“He kept things organized,” Sam said and Dean nodded, not looking at Sam.

“He was kinda obsessed with writing all that shit down,” Dean said. “Anything we can use in there?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing we don’t already know,” he said and closed the journal, keeping his fingers curved around the spine.

Dean nodded again, watched the road as the miles sped by. Sam finally let himself drop off to sleep to the sound of Whitesnake screaming that he was waiting for the night to come.

***************

Sam woke up when the Impala stopped. He opened his eyes and looked around. It was another generic small town, one that could be swapped with any of the thousands that he and Dean had visited over the years. “We here?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes and yawning.

“Yeah,” Dean’s low affirmation had Sam looking over at him. His face was pale in the almost dark. 

“You okay?” Sam felt hesitant. He wasn’t sure what had been going on in Dean’s head while he’d been sleeping but whatever it was had made Dean withdraw again.

“’M fine,” Dean told him. “Just tryin’ to figure out where to stay tonight.”

Sam searched on his phone, sleep being chased away by a sense of urgency. “We have two options,” he informed Dean. “We either take the Holiday Inn Express or the Hartness House Inn.” He stopped. “I vote for the Holiday Inn.”

Dean grabbed his phone and stared at the screen. “Hartness House Inn looks nice,” he shrugged and tossed it back to Sam. 

“It’s for weddings and honeymoons,” Sam pointed out.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Perfect cover right?”

“Cover?” Sam stuttered.

“It’s a small town,” Dean explained. “We can’t go in as cops or agents, no need for that. So, we can be newlyweds, you know, got married on the spur of the moment?”

Sam stared at him. “This is what you were thinking about while I was asleep?”

Dean shrugged. “Someone had to come up with a cover, a plan, something.” He waved a hand at the town in front of them. “There are less than ten thousand people in Springfield, Sammy. Doncha think that maybe one or two of them might get suspicious if we just show up and start asking questions?”

Sam slumped back against the seat. “You’re right,” he admitted. Then frowned. “That’s just about the first time I’ve ever –“ He stopped, bit his lip and shook his head. “God, I’m going to fuck this all up,” he muttered, cursing Chuck for putting him in this impossible situation.

“And if you do?” Dean’s question was casual, as if this wasn’t the most important thing Sam had ever done.

“Don’t,” Sam said, holding a hand up. “I can’t.”

“I’m just going to keep on at you until I get the truth,” Dean warned him.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Sam said. Everything inside him felt weary and heavy.

Dean paused and then asked, “So are you the bride or am I the bridegroom?” 

Sam glared at him and Dean sent a sunny smile his way as they turned into a long driveway lined with trees. “I’m not a fucking bride,” he gritted and felt his teeth ache when Dean ignored him. “You are such a dick,” he muttered.

“It’s why I wear the pants in this relationship, princess.” Dean grinned at him and Sam wanted to hit him. Asshole.

The smiling woman at the front desk looked somewhere between forty and ninety years old. She smiled at them both. “Welcome to Hartness House, my name is Rachel Castille.” She held out a hand and Sam shook it, smiled back at her.

“I’m Sam Wesson and this is,” he turned to Dean who ducked under his arm and snuggled up to him, tucking a hand into his back pocket.

“His husband, Dean Smith,” Dean added smoothly and held out his other hand to Rachel.

She beamed. “Newlyweds?” she asked and then laughed. “As if I need to ask; I can see the freshly minted marriage license practically on your faces.”

Dean gave a small laugh and coyly pressed his cheek against Sam’s chest. “We’re that obvious, huh?” 

Rachel shook her head. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, honey, and I can spot happy and in love at twenty paces.” She and Dean shared another laugh and Sam wondered when he’d woken up in the Twilight Zone.

“We just decided that we couldn’t wait any longer,” Dean admitted, fingers squeezing Sam’s ass. “And then Sammy told me that we at least deserved a honeymoon.”

“Well, that’s just precious,” Rachel cooed. She looked down at her computer. “I’m going to check to see if we have any of the honeymoon suites available.”

Sam suppressed a squeak when Dean squeezed his ass again. “What?” he hissed, trying not to blush.

Dean leaned up and whispered, “Try and look at least a little infatuated with me, okay?” Hot air skated over Sam’s ear and he barely controlled a shiver. “The objective is to make her believe that we’re in love.”

Sam swallowed hard and tried to smile fatuously at Dean. It obviously didn’t work because Dean scowled. “Now you look like you’re constipated,” Dean told him and licked at his throat.

Sam lost the power of speech. 

Rachel made a sort of polite noise that brought both of them out of whatever it was that was going on. Sam felt his face heat up and he ducked his head. Dean gave a low laugh and Sam would have bet a hundred dollars that Dean had winked at Rachel. Bastard. Some things never changed. Dean would flirt with a lamppost if it smiled at him.

“It turns out we have one of our best suites available for you two lovebirds,” Rachel told them with a bright smile. “Who do I charge it to?” She looked expectantly at them and Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean.

“The honeymoon was your idea, baby,” he murmured.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “But _you_ promised that you’d take care of me for the rest of our lives.” His voice was saccharine sweet.

Sam took out his wallet and handed Rachel his credit card. “The honeymoon’s on me, I guess,” he let her see the expression in his face and she giggled. “I’ve got quite a demanding bride.”

Dean pinched him. Hard. It was going to bruise. Sam thought it was totally worth it to see the sheer irritation on Dean’s face.

“Fuck you, Sammy,” he hissed into Sam’s ear.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Sam quipped back without thinking. Dean’s satisfied grin made him shake his head in annoyance.

“You’re in room 30,” Rachel came back with two old-fashioned room keys on pewter key rings shaped like entwined hearts. Sam heard Dean’s snort and stepped back onto his foot. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Sam said, years of John Winchester reminding him on how to treat a lady coming back with ease. 

Rachel’s cheeks went a little pink. It was sort of sweet, Sam thought. “Enough with the ‘ma’am’, please.” She patted his arm and Sam reckoned he had her pegged at sixty or maybe seventy now. “Call me Rachel. Dinner is at eight so you boys have enough time to settle in and clean up,” she told them.

Dean leaned around Sam. “What’s on the menu, Rachel?” he asked and it was so typically Dean that Sam felt his heart clench.

“We serve real Southern food here,” she said with a smile. “From fried chicken to grits and biscuits with home-made gravy.”

Sam felt the saliva pool in his mouth. Dean made a moaning noise. “I’ve changed my mind, Sammy. I want a divorce. I’ve met the woman I want to marry.”

Rachel gave another little laugh and waved them off. Sam followed Dean down the narrow hallway and up one small flight of stairs, then another. The stairs opened up onto a landing with one door. Dean put the key in, turned it and pushed the door open. There was a lot of white. And wood. It was a gorgeous room.

“Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?” Sam asked and Dean flipped him off as he walked inside.

“Classy,” Dean noted as he took a look around. He snorted a laugh at the chocolate and champagne basket on the small table below the window. “All the comforts of home.”

Sam set up the laptop on the table after moving the basket, helping himself to a couple of the chocolates. “Any ideas of who we should be looking for?” he asked around a mouthful of chocolate.

Dean had tossed his duffel onto the bed and basically turfed all its contents onto the white cover. “I dunno, maybe look at a family where the dad's a salesman or something,” he suggested.

Sam did a quick Wiki-search and noted, “There are two thousand five hundred families living in Springfield.”

Dean folded a couple of pairs of jeans and put them carefully in a drawer. “Okay,” he said, pointing a t-shirt at Sam, “Narrow it down to families with children under eighteen.”

Sam obediently put the new parameters in. “That takes us down to about a thousand one hundred homes.” He looked back up at Dean. “Any more ideas?”

Dean kicked off his boots and sat cross-legged on the bed, taking his gun apart. “Let's look at families where the average income is more than seventy-five thousand a year. Our shifter has to be earning good money to do all this travelling.”

Sam nodded and added the new search. He sat back, surprised at the results. “Huh, that brings us to about two hundred homes.”

Dean carefully cleaned the barrel of the Colt, gun oil catching the light. “Take out the single parent families,” he said. “This guy has someone who is the primary parent to the kids while he's on his crusade.”

Sam grinned. It felt good to be working with Dean like this again. It felt right. The timer counting down in his head gave him a bump. He flinched.

“What's wrong?” Dean asked, sharp eyes missing nothing.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing, just got a bit of a brain ache.” It was true. Chuck had made sure that every full day that passed reminded him that he was on a finite clock.

Dean watched him for a moment and then went back to cleaning. “What are the numbers now?” he asked.

Sam looked back at the screen. “About a hundred.”

Dean puffed out a breath and put the Colt down. “That's a fuck-ton,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed and then wiggled his fingers. “But now I get to do my thing and make that list go tiny.”

He grinned at Dean who reluctantly smiled back. “Okay genius, show me your stuff.”

Sam cracked his knuckles and Dean gave a short whoop of laughter. “Watch me blow your mind,” Sam promised and went to work.

It took him about five minutes, filtering out all of the non-related information but eventually he sat back with a satisfied smile. “I am the master of the universe,” he declared to no-one in particular. “I still got the stuff!”

Dean got off the bed and came to look over his shoulder. “Five names?” he asked. “You got it down to only five names?”

Sam shrugged, feeling the back of his neck heat a little. “What can I say? I'm awesome!”

Dean tapped the screen. “This guy, Porter, why him?”

Dean was too close, he smelled too much like home. Sam had to force himself to look back at the screen and not lean into the heat of Dean’s body. “He's a realtor,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “He's not just working in Springfield though, his office is in Baltimore.”

“Really?” Dean nodded to himself. “That's where one of the bodies was found.”

Sam wanted to say “I know” but reckoned that would just add to Dean’s already palpable frustration.

“And this one, Mosby?” Dean pointed at the next name.

“He's an Area Manager for Wal-Mart,” Sam said. “Does a lot of travelling to most of the towns around Springfield. Wal-Mart has depots in Baltimore, Weathersfield and Spoonerville, as well as Springfield.”

“Huh,” Dean indicated the next name. “Forbes?”

Sam grinned. “He's done some time for aggravated assault and now works as a motivational speaker against letting your childhood shape your life.”

“Travels then?” Dean asked.

“A lot,” Sam acknowledged.

“Meyers?” Dean moved on.

“Yeah, he's the wildcard of the bunch. He's a lay preacher for the New Life, New Light Church of Springfield.” Sam pursed his lips. “He just strikes me wrong.”

Dean nodded. “My dad always told me to listen to my gut. It's saved me a bunch of times.”

Sam barely had time to catch himself nodding his agreement. “Instinct is worth paying attention to,” he agreed.

“So the last guy, Daniels, why him?” Dean stepped back and Sam took a breath. It was getting harder and harder for him not to just blurt out the truth.

“He's a clown,” Sam said.

Dean stared at him. “A what?”

“A party clown,” Sam explained. “You know, the kind that makes balloon animals at kid's parties.”

“Come on Sammy, a guy can't be evil just because he dresses up like a clown for his day job!” Dean chortled and went back to cleaning his gun. “You need to get over this irrational fear of clowns, dude.”

Sam froze. “I never told you that I was scared of clowns,” he said, quiet and sure.

Dean looked up. “What?” His eyes were puzzled.

“I never told you that I was afraid of clowns,” Sam repeated. “How do you know that?”

Dean frowned, brow crinkling. “You musta...” he stared at Sam. “You musta said something sometime.”

Sam shook his head. “No.” He was utterly sure of it. “I didn't.” He got to his feet. “Dean, you're remembering.”

Dean held up a hand, warning Sam back. “Stay right there, man, and stop talking for a second.” He shook his head. “How'd I know that about you?” he said, almost to himself.

“Dean...” Sam started.

“Shut the fuck up, and let me think!” Dean snapped and Sam pressed his lips together. He went back to the laptop and took a pen and notepad, writing down the names and addresses of the five men he'd selected.

He tore off the page and tucked it into his pocket. “I'm going for a walk,” he said and Dean's gaze snapped up to him. 

“Why?” Dean asked. 

Sam took a deep breath. “I just need to be away from you for a little while,” he admitted. “I don't like feeling like I have to walk on eggshells around you.”

“Why do you always have to be such an emo bitch, Sammy?” Dean asked and again, it was like a slap across Sam's face, this almost Dean. His throat felt closed and tight.

“I'll see you in a bit,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Wait!” Dean called as Sam opened the door. “Sam, I'm sorry, just...” Sam closed the door behind him, taking care not to slam it.

“Fuck,” Sam breathed as he leaned back against the wall.

“You're running out of time Sam,” Azrael's cool voice made Sam yelp a little.

“Fuck! Don't do that!” Sam told him, heart racing.

“I apologize for startling you,” Azrael's dark eyes were warm on Sam's face. “You don't have much time left,” he repeated.

Sam started walking away from the angel, heading for the stairs and the cool night air. “You think I don't know that?” he asked bitterly, not looking back. “You think I'm not aware of every second ticking by being another year in eternity without my brother?” He tapped his head. “Chuck made sure I know exactly how long I don’t have.”

“Sam,” Azrael kept pace with him, his hands clasped behind his back.

Sam ignored him, raced down the stairs and waved at Rachel as he headed out of the front door of the Inn.

He sucked in huge gulps of the clean night air, trying to stop the panic attack that he could feel closing in on him.

“You need to work harder at getting him to see who you really are,” Azrael was right beside him, feet seemingly not touching the dew-damp grass.

“I have to be careful about how I lead him, what I say to him,” Sam protested. “You dicks have got me on a fucking short leash.” He sounded bitter and angry because he _was_ bitter and angry. Chuck had returned him to life, to Dean, with an almost impossible task. 

He was going to fail. 

“You will not fail,” Azrael assured him.

He was going to die.

“We all die,” Azrael reminded him.

“Stop reading my fucking mind!” he shouted and the angel took a step back.

“I shall leave you then,” Azrael said, his quiet calm making Sam feel a little ashamed of his outburst. “I only wished to give you comfort and support.”

Sam held out a hand, “Azrael, wait...I'm...” but the angel had vanished with the sound of invisible wings. Sam dropped his hand. “Fuck.” He sank down on the grass, pulled his knees close to his chest and rested his face there.

“So,” Dean's voice was matter-of-fact, “Either you're talking to yourself and you're a complete nut-job or you see invisible people that no-one else can see.” He sat down next to Sam, his shoulder brushing Sam's.

“Door number two, I guess,” Sam's reply was muffled. He was miserable and lonely and sad and he wanted Dean to know him, to know who he was, to be _his_ Dean again. He made a sort of pained sound and pressed his face harder against his knees.

“Hey now, take a couple of deep breaths, okay? It’s not going to help anything if you end up passing out on me.” Dean's hand dropped warm and strong between his shoulder blades. “Whatever it is that you can't tell me, I'm a smart guy; I'm sure I can figure it out.” His hand was a brand through Sam’s t-shirt.

Sam's snort was less effective than it should have been, given that it was a little snotty and watery. “You've always been the action man, Dean; I've...” he caught himself before he made a complete mess of everything. “Fuck!”

Dean kept his hand where it was. “So,” he said after Sam refused to finish his thought, “I heard a bit of what you were saying to your invisible friend.”

Sam scrambled mentally to try and remember what he'd said to Azrael.

“Something about a short leash,” Dean supplied helpfully. “And that your 'friend' was reading your mind.” He made a thoughtful sound. “Hmm, it can't be a ghost because you'd salt it, it can't be a demon 'cause you'd vanquish it, so what is invisible but good?”

Sam bit his lip, trying not to laugh. He kept forgetting that this Dean was _his_ Dean, all asshole attitude and cocksure arrogance. 

“You are such an enormous dick,” he told Dean when he lifted his head to glare at him. Tried to glare anyway.

The grin on Dean's face made it impossible. “I _have_ an enormous dick,” he agreed. “And if you would only let me show you the wedding night you deserve, Sammy...”

Sam howled and hurled himself at Dean, wrestling him to the ground amidst bouts of helpless laughter. “Such an asshole,” Sam gasped as he found the ticklish spot just below Dean's armpit that sent him into wriggling paroxysms.

“That is so fucking unfair,” Dean yelped as he tried to escape Sam's fingers.

“Knowledge is power,” Sam grinned and then held Dean down, using his heavier body weight to keep him on the ground.

Dean bucked up under him, growling in protest. “Gigantor!” he shouted and Sam just smiled smugly.

“He who has the biggest stick...” Sam said.

“Biggest dick?” Dean was still struggling, his boots finding a little purchase in the grass and his lower body trying to throw Sam off. Sam was trying not to let his body react. 

Then one of Dean's legs slipped between Sam's and pressed up against Sam's cock. They both froze, panting. Dean's eyes were wide and very green as Sam stared down at him. “Don't move,” Sam whispered.

“What if I want to?” Dean whispered back and tilted his hips just a little so that his dick rubbed against Sam's. They both groaned.

Sam dropped his head into the dark heat of Dean's neck. “Please,” he begged and his grip on Dean's wrists went loose.

Dean's arms came up and around him, one hand cupping the back of Sam's head, the other finding the small of his back. He pushed up into Sam again, a slow, agonizing friction that made them both catch their breath.

“Dean,” Sam murmured into Dean's skin, surrounded by the scent of his brother and the heady smell of arousal.

“Anything, Sammy.” Dean's voice was a low rumble in Sam's ear and his hand inched down to Sam's waistband, to the warm skin just below, and Sam shuddered in Dean's arms.

“Don't hate me,” Sam begged and he turned his face into Dean's neck and pressed a kiss there.

Dean's hips moved again and they both made a whining sound as their cocks bumped together. “Why would I hate you?” Dean asked and shivered when Sam's teeth scraped across his collar bone.

“I always fuck things up,” Sam told him and bit down, hard enough to leave a mark.

Dean made a shocked noise and he lunged up and over until Sam was beneath him, spread out and gulping in air. “You're so fucking gorgeous and you know so much about me and I want to fuck you and hold you and make you come and comfort you all at the same time.” 

The stream of words Dean babbled was just making Sam harder and he bucked up against Dean, his body desperate for what his mind was fighting so hard against. 

“I want that too,” Sam admitted and he forced himself to lie still. The night air was silent, lights from the Inn cast long shadows across the grass and Sam fell head over fucking heels in love with his brother for the last time.

“Sam,” Dean's groan was a promise, a benediction and his mouth was salvation. Sam opened up to Dean's lips and tongue and let him absorb him, take him over, giving in to the want, to the need, to Dean.

Dean's tongue fucked into his mouth, owning him, promising him things without words and Sam's hand went to Dean's hips, held them still, pushed up against him until there was scarcely air between them. He rocked up into Dean, hard against him and Dean shook. Sam prayed that if – no, _when_ Dean remembered him that he'd forgive him this moment of weakness, this moment of giving in.

Dean made a sound that vibrated into Sam's mouth and then he shoved against Sam, grunting and swearing and Sam came so hard that he felt his vision spark. Dean bit Sam's lip, drew blood, but all Sam could feel was the warm, wet heat of Dean against him.

They were both silent in the aftermath. Sam waited for Dean to move but he seemed perfectly okay with draping himself over Sam's body. So Sam stayed there, holding Dean close, breathing him in, allowing himself this moment. Just this moment, please God.

“We gonna move anytime soon?” Dean's gruff question was muttered into Sam's neck.

“I can't exactly go anywhere with you playing blankie,” Sam told him.

Dean snorted, his laugh a puff of heat against Sam's skin. “'M gross,” he informed Sam.

“I think it's a club called 'Blow Your Wad in Your Pants' or something like that,” Sam said.

Another little snort and Dean relaxed further onto Sam. Then Sam's stomach grumbled. Dean lifted his head and stared incredulously at Sam. “Oh my god, are you killing an animal inside you?” His mouth was curved in a grin.

“Bite me,” Sam said and rolled them onto their sides. 

“Maybe later,” Dean said with a grin, fluttering his eyelashes, “and only if you ask nicely.”

Sam got to his feet, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling of wet and slightly squelchy underwear. “This is pretty disgusting,” he admitted as he offered Dean a hand.

“Ugh.” Dean plucked at the front of his jeans. “We're going to have to shower before dinner.”

“Ya think?” Sam asked. 

“Last one in gets a cold shower,” Dean said and raced off like a bullet.

“Hey!” Sam howled and set off after him. “Fucking cheater!”

Dean blew a raspberry back at him and hurtled into the inn, Sam hot at his heels.

***************

Dean still took for fucking ever in the shower. Bastard hogged all the hot water too. Sam muttered deep and dire promises of vengeance when the tepid water hit his face. Only Dean could use up most of the hot water supply of an inn.

Of course, seeing Dean saunter out of the shower in nothing but a towel had necessitated a cold shower anyway so Sam supposed that he might be persuaded to let it go. This one time only.

He stood in the shower, telling himself not to take this any further, not to go so far that they couldn't come back from it. Then he remembered Dean's face as he came, soft, surprised, amazed and he felt his cock get hard again.

“I'm not going to be able to do this,” he moaned into the spray and prayed that somehow he could find the strength to keep his hands off Dean from now on.

Dean was in jeans and a clean button-down shirt the color of his eyes when Sam came out of the bathroom. His eyes went dark when he saw Sam in the towel. “I'm going to have trouble concentrating on dinner with the memory of you looking like that,” he said.

Sam flushed. Dean was a filthy flirt and not many people had ever been able to resist him. In fact, the only ones Sam could remember off the top of his head were women. “Dean,” he began.

“No chick flick moments, Sammy, I need to feed.” Dean held up a hand. “Now put on your princess dress and let me take you down to dinner.”

Sam seethed a little. This was the dick Dean, the cocky bastard who made him so mad sometimes that he couldn't see straight. It was also the real Dean, the Dean that only Sam had been privileged to see.

He grabbed his clean jean and a crisp-ish white shirt and tugged his boxers up under his towel. 

“Aw, Sammy, don't hide that pretty ass from me,” Dean crooned. Sam flipped him off without looking around. He pulled up the jeans and then turned back to Dean while he buttoned his shirt.

Dean was leaning against the wall near the door, arms folded and smirking. “God you're gorgeous,” Sam blurted and then felt his cheeks flush.

Dean gave a startled laugh and pushed away from the wall, walking slowly towards him. If Sam was entirely honest with himself, he'd admit that Dean gave him the time to stop him, to put a hand up and say no, but he didn't. He just watched as Dean basically stalked him.

Dean's hand came up and tangled in the damp hair at Sam's nape. “The things I'm going to do to you after dinner,” he growled into Sam's mouth and Sam couldn't stop the moan.

“Dean,” Sam tried for sanity but it was wiped away by the taste of Dean's mouth, the heat of his body pressed up against Sam.

“I'm done talking, Sam,” Dean said, and his mouth was a fucking poem, wet, pink and irresistible.

“What if I'm not?” Sam asked, not proud of the way his voice cracked.

“Eh,” Dean shrugged. “You can arm wrestle me later for speech privileges.” He gave Sam's bottom lip one last lick and took Sam's hand. “Come on, Mrs. Smith, let's go and meet the rest of the guests.”

“Fuck you,” Sam muttered, but didn't pull away.

“Only if you ask nicely, baby,” Dean said and towed him out of the room.

Dinner was excruciating. Rachel had put Sam and Dean at a table with another newlywed couple. They looked about five, all bright-eyed and hopeful about the world. Casey and Chris were sweet and nice and if they were in a horror movie, they would be serial killer fodder.

Sam decided to focus on his food, eating as quickly as he could, leaving Dean to be sociable. Dean wasn't all that great at sociable. Dean cleared his throat and asked them what they did. Kindergarten Teachers. Where they were from. Chester. And then he was all out of dinner table conversation. Fortunately Casey and Chris never stopped talking long enough to notice.

Sam paused at the end of the second course and was pretty impressed by the couple's ability to talk and eat at the same time without appearing rude. Or take a breath. 

“And then I told my momma that I couldn't _ever_ get married in off-white,” Casey told them earnestly. “I mean, what would the congregation think of me?”

“That you look like crap in pure white and ivory is more your color?” Dean offered and winced when Sam kicked his ankle. Chris looked like he wanted to laugh but Casey's blue eyes went big and welled with tears. “Oh god, no, no, make her stop!” Dean stared at Sam in panic.

“Baby, no, he's just a dumb guy,” Chris looked frantically at Sam who hastily swallowed his mouthful of food.

“Yeah, you really don't want to pay attention to anything Dean says,” Sam confided. “He's pretty but he's an ass.”

Casey gave a watery giggle, eyes still wary on Dean.

“I'm sorry,” Dean offered. “I tend to open my mouth just to change feet.” He pointed his thumb at Sam. “This big guy has been trying to civilize me for years.” He tried his patented 'Dean' smile on her and sure enough, she melted.

Sam felt a surge of possession and without thinking, reached out and put his hand on Dean's thigh under the table. The muscles beneath his hand tensed, then relaxed, and Dean sent him a sly grin.

Sam pulled his hand away and smiled at the server who put his dessert plate down in front of him. “Thanks.”

She blushed a little and ducked her head. “You're welcome.” She scurried away and Sam watched her leave.

“You had better not be checking her ass out,” Dean warned in a low voice.

Sam turned back to glare at him. Dean wasn't joking. “I...was just looking,” he finished pathetically.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “We are on our honeymoon, asshole!” he hissed.

Chris and Casey were watching them with wide eyes.

Sam wanted to remind Dean that it was not a _real_ honeymoon but that would sort of defeat the entire point of their evening so far. He decided to go for dramatic and emotional. “You're so fucking controlling!” he snapped back at Dean and shoved his chair back, making sure he kept his dessert bowl in his hand. “Maybe this whole shotgun wedding was a mistake!” He spun on his heel and heading out of the dining room.

Dean stood up and yelled after him, “You're not fucking pregnant, you moron! That's the only way it would be a shotgun wedding!” 

Sam stopped, took a deep breath, back still to Dean and then headed on out. He heard Dean rushing after him. He got to the room before Dean though and put the chain on the door, locking Dean out.

“Sam, you'd better open this fucking door.” Dean's low growl made Sam's stomach quiver. He was such a sick fuck.

“Get your own room, dickhead.” Sam's voice sounded petulant, even to him.

“You're acting like a baby, dude,” Dean told him. “You're supposed to do what I say; Dad told you...” he stopped and Sam sucked in a breath. The silence grew and Sam unhooked the chain, opened the door.

Dean was standing at the doorway, face white and shaking. “What the fuck was that?” he asked and almost fell into Sam's arms.

Sam caught him, pulled him in, hauled him against his chest, and shut the door. He drag-carried Dean to the bed and pushed him down on it. Dean's entire body was shivering. 

“Dean, Dean,” Sam could only say his name and climb onto the bed next to him, pull him in tight and hold on.

“What the fuck is going on, Sam?” Dean asked, his voice muffled in Sam's shoulder.

“I'm not sure what you're feeling or experiencing,” Sam admitted. “They never told me...”

Dean shoved away from Sam in one explosive movement, hurling himself off the bed. “Who?” he demanded. “Who is _they_?” He shoved his hands into his hair, spinning in a wild circle. “I can’t handle this.”

“Dean, please,” Sam pushed off the bed and walked towards Dean. His hands settled on Dean's shoulders and he felt the flinch. “Tell me what's freaking you out so much?” he begged. He felt the stirrings of hope again and fought against them.

“I...” Dean dropped his head so that his forehead rested against Sam's chest. “Just now, when I was outside the door and shouting at you, there was a flash, something, a kid,” Dean shook his head. “I don't know what the hell it was but it felt real.”

“Who was the kid?” Sam forced himself to ask.

“I don't fucking know!” Dean's frustration boiled out and he shoved himself away from Sam again. “I've never seen him before in my life, but he was in the room with me and he gave me...” Dean stopped. He went pale again and he reached inside his shirt.

“He gave this to me,” Dean said, his voice raw. The amulet gleamed dully in the soft light and Sam sucked in a quick breath.

“You still have it,” he said, reaching out to touch it. 

“I threw it away once,” Dean admitted. “I still can't remember how I got it back.”

Sam wanted to tell him about that Christmas, when Dad had disappointed Sam for the very last time. When he'd given the amulet to Dean. When Dean had carelessly thrown it away because all hope had seemed lost. That Sam had fished it out of the trash, kept it safe. Dean must have found it when he’d buried Sam.

He bit his lip to stop the words tumbling out, just watched as Dean stared at the brass head on the strip of leather around his neck.

“Why do you wear it?” Sam asked.

Dean looked up at him. “I'm not sure,” he admitted. Then shrugged. “Bobby told me that it's special. Cas said it was a way to get in contact with God. It didn’t work, but I reckon it's still worth keeping around.”

Sam nodded. “It looks old,” he said, remembering Castiel taking it when went on his quest to find God.

Dean shrugged again. “It feels important, like it means something.” He looked uneasy again. “This shit that's happening, these flashes,” he stared at Sam. “Does it have something to do with you and who you are?”

“I can't tell you, Dean,” Sam felt helpless in the face of Dean's confusion. “You have to figure this out on your own.”

Dean gave out a frustrated yell and stomped into the bathroom. “This is driving me fucking crazy!” he shouted and slammed the door.

They slept on opposite sides of the bed that night, very careful not to touch. Sam felt cold from the inside out. He had so little time left.

***************

Dean was utterly focused on the case the next morning. He threw a wet face cloth at Sam to wake him up and told him he'd meet him down at the dining room for breakfast.

“I've got a feeling it's the clown, Sammy,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

Sam sighed into his pillow and tried to remind himself that he really did love his brother and he wanted them to be together again. Right. 

He dragged himself off the bed, swearing viciously when he discovered that all of the towels were damp and used. Dean could be such a bastard sometimes.

He dressed quickly and locked up all the weapons and lore books, just in case it freaked out the cleaning service, and went downstairs.

Dean was already sitting with Chris and Casey, hands waving wildly as he told them some story that had them clutching their sides with laughter.

“So when the scarecrow climbed off the platform, we turned tail and ran as far and as fast as we could,” he finished with a flourish.

Casey could hardly talk, just flapped her hand as she tried to control her laughter. Chris snort-giggled as he asked, “So was it real?”

Dean threw back his head and laughed. “Fuck yeah, it was real. Sammy slept with the light on for a week and wouldn't eat corn for a year!” 

Sam grimaced as the couple collapsed into giggles again. He wondered if Dean realized that the story he was telling them was real. Was a real case they’d worked. Was a true memory. It gave him hope. “Telling stories about me again, honey?” he asked, tone light and only slightly snippy.

Dean patted the hand on his shoulder. “They're the best ones, babe,” he acknowledged. Sam wondered if he could go to prison for killing his brother if he was already technically dead. It was a hypothetical he'd consider later.

“So what are you two going to do today?” Chris asked them, once Sam had sat down and started buttering his toast.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean barreled ahead. “Oh, we're going to go into town and just wander around. Sammy wants to get some sort of memento from our stay here.” He glanced at Sam through thick lashes. “Sam collects thimbles so we're hoping to find something like that.”

Sam wanted to strangle Dean. This was dick Dean at his absolute worst. Dean was pissed with Sam for not telling him what he thought he needed to know so he was taking it out of Sam's hide. 

“Thimbles?” Casey stared at Sam in confusion. “You sure don't look like the thimble-collecting type,” she observed.

Sam gave a thin smile. “You'd be surprised. I live to find thimbles that are rare and collectable.”

Dean's manic grin did nothing to ease Sam's anger. “Huh,” Chris said, bemused. “Thimbles?”

“Thimbles,” Dean affirmed and scooted out of reach of Sam's foot. The bastard was going to pay.

Rachel waved them off as they headed for the Impala. Sam couldn't contain himself any more. “Thimbles?” he spat, hands on his hips. “Fucking seriously, dude, _that's_ what I collect?”

Dean snorted a laugh and climbed into the car. “I had to think on my feet,” he defended. “It was the first thing I could think of.”

“You're such a fucking liar, man.” Sam pointed at him. “We are not done with this, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes and started the car. “Whatever, princess,” he muttered and they headed into Springfield.

Springfield was a small town, but it had a mall, a cemetery, a couple of schools and a pretty cool steel truss bridge that Dean sort of geeked out over. He drove the Impala over it about five times, giving Sam a running commentary on how cool it sounded.

“Why the clown?” Sam asked Dean as they eventually drove down Main Street.

“Hm?” Dean was staring out at Small Town, USA with something like bemusement. “Fuck, I don't believe that people live like this anymore, you know, Sammy?” 

“I know what you mean,” Sam agreed, accepting that the earlier argument was done. “It's sort of surreal.”

Dean waved a hand at the street. “It's goddamn creepy is what it is,” he said.

“The clown?” Sam prompted.

Dean looked at him. “Oh yeah, well, with all the Pollyanna shit that seems to be the name of the game here, I reckoned that the one who seemed the most perfect, the least likely, well, that would be our guy.”

“And you figure it's the clown because?” Sam shook his head. Dean-logic was no logic. He'd learned from an early age to just give in and go with the flow.

“See, the speaker, the preacher and the Wal-Mart guy, they're around people all the time. And the realtor, well, he's in selling mode all day every day. The clown guy is the only one who puts a mask on. Anyone asks what he looks like...” Dean trailed off and Sam nodded.

“He's a clown.”

“Right!” Dean crowed. “Nobody suspects the clown and nobody can identify the clown. Plus, it's the perfect opportunity for the shifter to scope out his next victim.”

Sam must have looked as confused as he felt. “Kid's parties, man!” Dean said.

“God, I'm an idiot!” Sam exclaimed. “I should have seen that one a mile away.”

Dean grinned. “Pity I got both the looks _and_ the brains in the family, Sammy.” And then he stopped, mouth tight and hit the steering wheel. “Fucking fuck. What the actual fuck was that?” He glared at Sam.

“I'm sorry, Dean,” Sam said and he wouldn't look at him now, couldn't. “It means that you're remembering and I can't be mad about that.”

“It's making me fucking crazy!” Dean said and then sucked in a breath. “Look, we don't have time for this emo bullshit, so how about we shelve it until we've ganked the shifter?”

Sam turned to look at Dean now. “ _I'm_ not the one who keeps insisting that we talk,” he pointed out.

Dean glowered. “Gimme Clown Guy's address,” he ordered.

Sam looked at his notes. “He's at 10 Hillcrest Road,” he said. “Stay right on Elm and then right into Hillcrest.” 

Dean obeyed, and soon they were in a chocolate-box pretty street with trees and long driveways and kids playing with a ball on the sidewalk.

“I swear, this is like a scene from that movie, you know the one in black and white with the hot blonde chick. They start sinning and suddenly there's color,” Dean waved an impatient hand, willing Sam to come up with the answer.

“Pleasantville,” Sam supplied.

“That's the shit!” Dean said and stared around. “It's like Pleasantville, man, fucking creepy.”

“Duly noted,” Sam said and pointed out a driveway where an old Volkswagen station wagon was parked. 

Dean pulled over and parked a little further down the street. They got out of the Impala and he took Sam's hand as they started a slow walk down the sidewalk. 

“What the hell?” Sam asked, tugging to get his hand free.

“Remember, we're happy and in love, dude,” Dean reminded him.

“What does that have to do with the price of eggs or why you're holding my hand?” Sam demanded. Dean was maybe enjoying this a little _too_ much.

“We're scoping the neighborhood,” Dean said. “Looking to maybe buy a house. Rachel mentioned a couple of streets to us that she thought we might like...” He raised an eyebrow at Sam. “You with me, Sam?”

Sam wanted to say something biting but it was actually a good idea. Not that he would ever tell Dean that. “Fine,” he said and left his fingers curled around Dean's.

“Awesome,” Dean breathed and plastered on his good ole boy grin when an elderly lady came walking towards them. She was dressed in a track suit, obviously on her workout around the block. “Morning, ma'am,” Dean nodded to her and she nodded, smiling, back at him.

Sam wanted to smash something.

Dean lightly swung their hands as they strolled. It was a lazy Saturday morning and children screamed as they played, dogs barked and the buzz of a lawnmower sounded like the background music to a strange show.

“Pleasantville, I tell you,” Dean whispered in his ear and Sam couldn't help grinning.

They stopped and chatted to several people out in their gardens, asked generic questions about the neighborhood, took a couple of photos of well-tended properties and houses, all the while carefully working their way towards their goal.

The house looked normal, as houses go. It was white with a small porch, a big garden with a lot of grass and an American flag fluttering in the breeze.

“Is that for real?” Dean asked, pointing at the flag. “Is that body-stealing serial killer actually flying our flag?”

Sam held onto Dean's hand when he would have surged forward. “We don't know for sure, Dean. Just calm down, okay.”

“Flag, Sam,” Dean flung his free hand out. “It's got the American flag on his porch. It's fucking goading us!”

“Can you just please get off the crazy train for a second and focus?” Sam asked. “We can't be sure that it's a shifter until we confirm the retinal flare, right?” Dean gave a sharp nod.

“Okay, so our mission today is to get a photo or film a video of the family in that house, right? Sam spoke slowly, carefully.

“I'm not an idiot,” Dean told him.

“You're impulsive,” Sam said. “I just need to make sure we're on the same page here.” 

Dean opened his mouth to protest and closed it again. “Fine, no ganking today.” He sounded frustrated.

Sam grinned. “Recon only,” he reminded Dean and they continued towards the house. It was set back slightly further than the other houses. Sam wondered if it was built that way or if the shifter built it like that.

A tall brunette woman came out of the house with a bright-eyed baby on her hip. She smiled at them. “Well hello there,” she greeted. “I've been watching you two make the rounds and was wondering if you'd stop by here.”

She sounded so normal, so painfully human, that Sam was almost one hundred percent sure that Dean's hunch had been wrong.

“I'm Sam Wesson,” he said and held out a hand. “This is my husband, Dean Smith.”

She shook his hand with another genial smile. “I'm Bianca Daniels,” and looked down at the baby, “and this is the light of my life, Teresa.” She gave a small laugh. “Although Terrorist might be more apt.”

Dean and Sam both smiled in response to the baby's gummy grin. She was sort of adorable. Her dark curls were bound together with a purple ribbon on top of her head, and a little puddle of drool was pooling on the purple bib on her chest.

“So you two are scoping out the area then?” Bianca asked. “Thinking about buying here?” Teresa started wriggling in her mother’s arms, squirming and making protesting noises.

Dean nodded and waggled the camera. “We've sort of fallen in love with Springfield,” he told her with a small smile. “Rachel Castille at Hartness House gave us a couple of streets to look at and Hillcrest was at the top of her list.”

Bianca finally put Teresa down and she started crawling rapidly towards a small sand-box in the middle of the garden. Sam and Dean followed along with Bianca, watching them both closely. “Rachel's an angel,” Bianca said. Teresa had reached the sand-box and screeched happily, launching herself into the sand.

Sam gave a startled laugh. Babies weren't really his thing but this one was a cutie. He crouched down next to the sand-box and watched the baby laughing at the clumps of sand she'd managed to pick up in fat, sticky fingers.

“So, are you happy living here on Hillcrest Road?” Dean asked Bianca as Sam held out a finger for Teresa to grab onto. The baby burbled happy glee as she lunged at Sam.

She flipped a long dark strand of hair over her shoulder and looked up at the large tree sheltering the sand-box and the baby from the sun. “It's the most like home I've ever felt,” she said and there was something quietly sad about it.

“Do you mind if I take a few pictures, a couple of videos?” Dean asked. “I'm trying to put a composite feel for the street together.”

Bianca waved her assent and Dean talked and asked questions, took pictures and videos and Sam played in the sand with the baby girl.

They finally said goodbye to Bianca and Teresa. She invited them for coffee the next day. “My husband, Colin, will be home then,” she told them. “He's a party clown so Saturdays are his busiest days.” She picked Teresa up. The baby promptly began to cry at being removed from her playground. “Come around eleven,” she said over the howling protests of her daughter.

“Thanks, that would be really nice.” Dean hauled Sam to his feet and they started back towards the Impala. 

“She seems pretty normal,” Sam offered once they were heading back into town.

“Yeah, she does,” Dean agreed and tossed Sam the camera. “Let's check it out for ourselves, okay?”

Sam fiddled with the camera and flicked through the photos that Dean had taken of the rest of the neighborhood as cover. He finally reached Bianca and Teresa and felt his heart sink.

“What?” Dean asked, too perceptive to miss the change in Sam's posture. “Is she a shifter too?

Sam shook his head. “Bianca's human,” he said and he seriously felt like crying because some days this job sucked ass.

“Oh god,” Dean groaned. “The baby's a shifter isn't she?” He slapped the steering wheel in frustration at Sam's nod. “Son of a bitch!”

“This is so fucked up, Dean.” Sam looked at him. “I can't kill a baby.”

He could see the struggle on Dean's face. “She'll grow up, made to kill just like her father,” he reminded Sam but it didn't help the memory of a dark-haired baby girl sitting in the middle of a sand-box, laughing at the sand trickling through her chubby fingers.

“Dean,” Sam tried again.

Dean shook his head. “No, Sammy, remember what Dad said; there's no such thing as a good monster.” He made a low noise of frustration.

Sam's shocked gaze flew to Dean who hadn’t realized what he’d said. What he’d implied.

“Okay,” Sam decided to avoid Dean's slip and just pray that it meant that his memories were returning. “We go back in the morning and meet the guy. Maybe take the family for a ride out somewhere quiet while we figure out what to do.”

Dean nodded slowly. “You’re going to have to tell me, Sam,” he said and he sounded a little bit broken. “I can’t go on like this.”

Sam saw that Dean hadn’t missed his own words and felt helpless. “I can’t,” he said and his voice cracked. “I just can’t or it all…”

Dean looked at him. “All what, Sam?” His shoulders were slumped as they drove into the slowly cooling afternoon. “What terrible thing will happen if you tell me the truth about yourself?”

Sam took a quick breath. “You know you’re just inviting trouble when you say things like that,” he warned.

“Whatever.” Dean waved a weary hand and rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t care, bring it on.” He couldn’t even drum up a hint of defiance.

Sam flinched. “What if it affects me too?” he asked. “Are you prepared for that?”

Dean glanced over at him. “Are you telling me you’re okay with this…” he made an impatient gesture, “thing between us?”

Sam wondered how far he could push Chuck’s line. “What we are now, this ‘thing’, as you call it, is better than most anything I’ve ever had in my life.”

Dean stared at him for a moment. “This amount of fucked-up is really not healthy for anyone,” he said eventually.

Sam’s chuckle was slightly watery. “You have no idea just how fucked-up I’ve been,” he confessed.

“Okay,” Dean said after a while. “Okay, we’ll play it your way for a little longer. Let’s see how it goes.”

Sam reached out a hand and touched Dean’s cheek. “For what it’s worth, you’ve always been the most important person in my life.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “God, you are such a girl sometimes, Sam,” his teeth flashed white as he grinned. “I’m going to buy you a pink polo shirt when we go out again.”

Sam gave him a lazy punch that just served to make Dean laugh a little and the silence this time didn’t hurt.

****************

Rachel welcomed them back to the inn with iced tea laced with something fruity and about three hundred percent alcohol. Dean gulped it down in two deeps inhales and Rachel beamed.

“It’s nice having you boys here,” she said. “It makes me feel a little safer.” 

They sat on the porch, Sam pushing the large swing slowly with one foot while Dean’s legs draped over his. “It doesn’t seem like there should be anything to make you nervous in Springfield,” Sam noted. “It’s a very homey sort of place.”

Rachel shrugged. “There are stories. You know how it is in a small town. Always something to gossip about.” Her smile seemed forced for the first time. She patted Sam’s shoulder as she headed inside. “Just stories,” she said.

“I can’t remember the last time I did this,” Dean admitted, face turned to the last dying light of the sun. 

Sam watched him, waiting for him to continue. Dean stayed silent though and the sun took that moment to bounce down just below the horizon, exploding the sky in a riot of colors.

He looked down at Dean’s legs, comfortably sprawled across his own. _His_ Dean, the Dean he’d kept in his memory for his countless years in Heaven, had not been so carelessly comfortable with his body.

“When last did you talk to Bobby?” Sam asked, needing to say something.

Dean gave him a strange look. “You say you know me?” Sam nodded. “Then you know that Bobby’s been dead for a year or thereabouts,” Dean told him. “He died when…” Dean stopped, frowned. “Something happened and Bobby died.”

Sam felt a desperate sorrow hit him. “Ellen and Jo are alive but Bobby’s dead?” he shook his head. “I never saw him…” He shut his mouth when Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Never saw him where?” Dean asked.

Sam waved a hand. “Die,” he said eventually. “I never saw Bobby die.” And he wanted to weep. Scream at Chuck for fucking him over again. Where had Bobby been while Sam had been hopeless and lost in Heaven?

“Huh,” Dean didn’t push him this time, possibly seeing something of the grief that Sam was feeling on his face. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” Sam replied, his voice a little hoarse from trying to stop the tears. “I didn’t know.” Bobby must have died in the battle for Purgatory. 

“Cas is still around right?” Sam asked. 

Dean shrugged and took a sip of his tea. “As I said before, I haven’t seen him since he closed the gate to Purgatory and headed back up to Heaven to get things sorted.” His mouth went tight. “God sure wasn’t listening to me. And Cas thought he’d better get up there and _make_ him listen.”

Sam was trying to follow Dean’s timeline. It was all fucked up and skewed. People who should have been alive were dead, and those he’d buried were alive, and Castiel – 

“Hello, Dean,” They both froze at the sound of the angel’s voice. 

Sam felt dread well up in the pit of his guts. Castiel being here was not a good thing. It meant that the clock had been reset and his time was running out.

“Sam.” Castiel turned his gaze to Sam and in the depth of his eyes, Sam saw Heaven once more. “I’m here to give you a message.”

“From who?” Dean demanded, slightly belligerent.

“Sam, the Lord says that you have two more days.” Castiel’s eyes were blank, no hint of how he felt about giving Sam this information.

“That’s not enough time,” Sam’s breath hitched. “Please, Cas, ask him for more time, please?”

Castiel reached out and touched his forehead. “You are so loved, Sam Winchester. I do not think you have ever realized just how much.” The wave of warmth that encompassed Sam made him shudder, stagger, fall back against the porch swing, utterly undone.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Cas?” Dean was on his feet now, fists clenched at his sides. “Two days for what?”

Castiel stared at Dean. “You need to remember, Dean,” and his voice was low and urgent. “You need to remember or you will lose everything.”

The sound of wings on the wind told Sam that Castiel was gone.

Dean looked angry and hurt and so very scared. “Tell me, please,” he begged Sam.

Sam closed his eyes. “I can’t,” he said, voice small and sad. “If I tell you, it’s over and I...”

Dean’s mouth went tight. “Why can’t I remember?” he asked. “Your face, it’s in my dreams but you’re not clear. It’s like I’m looking at you through water.”

“Try, Dean,” Sam urged him. “Please, just try.”

Dean nodded slowly. “I _am_ trying.” he said. He took a deep breath and met Sam’s gaze. “I’ll try harder.”

***************

Sam stayed on the porch that night, watching the stars blink into existence, diamond-bright pinpricks of light millions of years gone already.

He was so tired. Dean had never liked to be denied anything and only once before had Sam been able to keep his secrets. And that had turned out so well. He’d almost destroyed the world.

He curled up on the swing, wrapped himself up in the throw Rachel had brought to him. Her sympathetic smile had been almost too much to bear.

“Don’t you worry none, honey,” she said, patting his shoulder. “You and your Dean are soul mates and anyone with one eye can see it. Whatever it is, it will blow over. Love never fails, you see.” She’d smiled and left him broken on the porch, eyes burning and heart aching.

“You are heart-weary this night, Sam,” Azrael’s kind voice made him start and he looked up to see the angel leaning against one of the pillars.

“Cas said I have two days left,” Sam bit out, feeling betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me I had so little time?”

 

“You know why,” Azrael said gently. “He’s starting to figure things out.”

“Not fast enough,” Sam said. “Azrael, if he doesn’t and I die again. I don’t think he’ll survive it. He loves me, even though he doesn’t know me.”

“You brother loves you with his entire being, Sam,” Azrael settled next to him and Sam felt warm again. “He is incapable of anything else. It has been a part of him since your birth and that is why the Lord has allowed you to come back to him. Dean has an important part of the Lord’s heart.”

“What about me?” Sam asked, feeling petty and selfish and small. 

“This was never about you, Sam,” Azrael turned his gaze to Sam and eternity spun in the depths of his eyes. “This has always been about Dean.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam shook his head. “God gave me the chance to come back.”

“Because Dean needed you,” Azrael affirmed. “If he had been doing well on his own then the Lord would have kept you safely in your Heaven.”

Sam still didn’t get it. “What’s so special about him?” he asked and then laughed, a bitter, hard sound. “ _I_ know why he’s so special because I’ve loved him most of my life. What’s God’s reason?”

Azrael leveled a stare at him. “We do not question the ways of the Lord,” he admonished.

“Fuck Chuck!” Sam said and waited for a bolt of lightning to strike him dead. Nothing happened. 

Azrael sighed. “I should leave,” he said. “I appear to make things worse.”

Sam shook his head. “You’d better tell Chuck that I won’t be going quietly.”

Azreal touched his arm with a warm finger. “We would expect nothing less from a Winchester,” he said and disappeared.

Sam sat on the porch swing and prayed for a miracle.

***************

Dean was fast asleep when Sam eventually came in. He was shivering with the chill of the night air and quickly stripped off his jeans and button-down shirt and slipped into the huge bed in his boxers and t-shirt. 

He kept to the edge of the bed, trying to stay as far away from Dean as possible. He didn’t want to have more to regret if Dean eventually remembered everything. _When_ Dean eventually remembered everything. 

“You plannin’ on protecting your virtue till morning, princess?” Dean’s sleep-roughened voice startled him.

“You’re awake?” Sam asked unnecessarily.

“You’re about as quiet as a sack of cats,” Dean muttered and an arm snaked around Sam’s waist and pulled him in closer. 

“Dean.” Sam tried, he really tried.

“Shut up,” Dean ordered. “I’m not going to molest you in your sleep.” He sounded a little offended.

“I just think….” Sam tried again.

“There’s your problem right there, Sammy,” Dean told him and wiggled nearer. His breath was warm against Sam’s neck. “That huge forehead is hiding a brain that never shuts off.” He reached up and tapped against Sam’s forehead. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow we can fight about who you are and how we’re going to kill a baby.”

The sick feeling returned and Sam sucked in a breath. “Yeah, that’s going to help me sleep better,” he muttered.

“I could molest you, if you’d like,” Dean offered. “I’m told that coming your brains out actually does stop said brain working for a while.”

“Shut up,” Sam repeated back at Dean, but he was smiling.

And he could feel Dean’s smile against the skin of his throat as he finally drifted off to sleep.

***************

He woke up with Dean’s hand on his cock and Dean’s mouth sucking a bruise into his neck.

The noise he made was involuntary and undignified.

He didn’t give a fuck.

He arched up into Dean’s hand, head still hazy with sleep and gasped out Dean’s name.

“Shh,” Dean crooned into his skin. “I’ll take good care of you, baby.”

“We shouldn’t,” Sam said, trying to do the right thing and stop this before it went beyond return. He honestly didn’t want to fuck this up more royally than he already had but Dean’s hand felt so good on his dick.

“Why not?” Dean murmured.

Sam knew there was a reason, a really, really good reason why this was an epically bad idea. Right now, he didn’t give a shit and he grabbed at the headboard and let Dean do whatever he wanted with him.

Turned out, Dean wanted everything. He wrestled Sam out of his t-shirt and started kissing and nipping his way down Sam’s chest. Sam put a hand on his shoulder and pushed.

Dean lifted his head and his mouth was swollen and wet. “What?” he asked. It was defiance and challenge and hope all wrapped up in a single word.

“This is not a good idea,” Sam said. 

“Feels like a fucking awesome idea,” Dean told him and his eyes were dark and determined. “Want to fuck you, Sammy,” he whispered and it went straight to Sam’s cock.

“You don’t know me,” Sam said, desperate to get some sort of control back.

“I know you,” Dean shook his head and dropped his forehead against Sam’s ribcage. “I know that you’re loyal and stubborn and you’re smarter than about ten people put together.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean pinched his thigh. “Shut up,” he ordered. “Listen to me and shut the fuck up.”

Sam shut up.

“You’re an emo bitch who sees drama around every corner,” Dean continued. “You like to talk about feelings and shit.”

Sam snorted a laugh even as he tried to blink back the burn of tears. “I’m not emo,” he said instead.

“You are,” Dean insisted and blew a hot breath against Sam’s belly. “It’s like you’re the opposite of everything I am.” He lifted his head again and met Sam’s gaze. “It’s like you were made for me.”

It was a punch to Sam’s gut. This twisted mix of love and fear and want had always been part of how he felt about Dean. “Why won’t you fucking remember?” he asked Dean.

His brother’s eyes were very green, very intent. “Isn’t this enough?” he replied. 

Sam dropped his head back onto the pillow with a groan. “I don’t know how else to make you remember me.” He felt tired, helpless.

Dean stopped his attempted seduction and sat back on the bed. Sam couldn’t stop himself from staring at him. “So, you said we never did this,” Dean began slowly.

Sam scooted back and sat up, leaning against the headboard. “Yeah,” he said.

“But everything about you feels familiar,” Dean told him and this time his eyes were puzzled when they met Sam’s. “The things you say, the way you look at me, your mouth going tight when I piss you off. It’s all like…” he stopped.

“Like?” Sam prompted.

“Like I know you,” Dean finished. He shook his head. “But I _don’t_ know you so none of this makes sense.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Is this a witch’s spell?”

Sam frowned. “You think you got cursed?” He wasn’t sure if he should be pissed or amused.

“That could be an explanation.” Dean rested his hands on his thighs. Sam couldn’t stop his eyes from going to his fingers. They were Dean’s hands, calloused fingers, ragged nails. His brother’s hands.

“It’s not a witch, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean watched him. “You keep telling me that I know you, that I just don’t remember you.” His eyes were narrowed. 

“You’ve known me all your life,” Sam said and a small agony twisted inside him, reminding him that the line he walked was very precarious.

“So you say,” Dean was reverting back to the suspicious bastard who’d punched him a couple of days ago. “Why should I believe you?”

Sam had always known what desperation felt like. When Dean had been a day away from Hellhounds and the Pit, he’d felt his stomach churning and his heart breaking into tiny pieces over a twenty-four hour period. When he’d said yes to Lucifer and felt the king of demons take over ever portion of his soul. When Dean had been snatched away to Purgatory and he’d been unable to find out if he was alive or dead.

Sam had known desperation but never complete hopelessness. Right now, in this moment, half naked in bed with the brother he’s loved all his life, he’s desperate and hopeless and one step from breaking all of Chuck’s rules.

“Because you know me,” he told Dean instead. “Somewhere, deep inside you, there’s a memory. You recognized me at the cellular level the moment you saw me.”

Dean stared at him. “No,” he shook his head eventually. “I don’t.”

Sam closed his eyes. “I think I’m going to have a shower,” he said and rolled off the bed. He didn’t look back. If he did, he’d never be able to walk away.

***************

Rachel took one look at them when they walked into the dining room and sighed. “Lover’s spat?” she asked Sam.

He tried to smile at her but it was obviously unsuccessful when her expression turned even more sorrowful. “Dean can be stubborn,” he told her and didn’t look up when Dean made a low noise of protest.

“Pot meet kettle,” Dean said and went to get himself a cup of coffee.

Sam gave Rachel a helpless shrug when she patted his arm in sympathy. “I guess it’s what happens when you get married and have to get used to each other’s…” he paused.

“Foibles?” Rachel suggested and Sam smiled gratefully.

“Holy shit!” Dean’s exclamation made Sam look up at him. “There are chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast! Rachel, I swear I _am_ going to marry you!”

Rachel made a pleased ‘hush you’ sort of sound and went back to her post at the front desk.

Sam followed Dean, got a cup of coffee and a plate piled high with pancakes and bacon and real maple syrup. They sat down at the nearest table and started eating in silence.

Sam wanted to talk, to say something, but everything about Dean’s expression and body language told him to shut the fuck up, to leave it alone. Sam had learned to read Dean’s silences as a matter of survival a long time ago.

“So we’re going to head back to Hillcrest Road and deal with the shifter and his kid?” Dean spoke around a mouthful of pancakes and Sam winced.

“That’s disgusting,” Sam said.

Of course, that just made Dean chew even more vigorously, making sure that Sam could see the mush of pancake in his mouth. “Charming,” Sam muttered and Dean grinned at him, masticated pancake visible at the corners of his mouth.

And that was such a Dean thing to do, Sam realized. This was still his Dean. He’d sort of lost sight of that with everything that had happened. Dean was still Dean. It was Sam who was different. Sam who had changed.

“What?” Dean asked, eyes narrowed. Dean was still too observant. He’d always been hyper-aware of any variation in Sam’s moods.

Sam shook his head. “It’s just,” he puffed out a breath. “I forgot just what a pain in the ass you can be.”

“Please,” Dean scoffed. “I’m awesome.”

And he was. Sam had forgotten that Dean didn’t dwell on things the way he did. Dean moved on quickly, let a problem go if he couldn’t beat it down or kill it. Dean didn’t let the crap stick to him. He shook it off and carried on.Unless the crap had involved Sam. Then Dean was a fucking pitbull.

“Sorry about this morning,” Sam said and Dean’s eyes went flat.

“You want to go there?” Dean asked and Sam nodded.

“Can we just clear the air?” Sam leaned forward. “I hate it as much as you do.”

“You expect me to remember things without giving me any sort of clue.” It was a quiet but devastatingly true accusation.

“I know,” Sam didn’t try to deny it. “But it’s the way it has to be.”

Dean looked at him. “I’m trying,” he admitted. “There have been moments…” he trailed off and Sam’s heart pounded faster. “I keep seeing a shadow.”

“A shadow?” Sam propped his elbows on the table. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Some of my cases, when I know I was alone, there’s this shadow.” He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. It’s just weird.”

Sam couldn’t breathe. For the first time since he’d died, he felt the first bright spark of hope. He was terrified.

“Try and make that shadow into something,” Sam urged. 

“Is the shadow you?” Dean asked.

Sam opened his mouth to reply but the sharp burning pain in his gut reminded him that he wasn’t at liberty to confirm anything. Dean had to be sure. He sighed and closed his mouth again.

“Right,” Dean’s voice was hard. “You can’t tell me.”

Sam wanted to scream in frustration but he forced himself to answer Dean. “You’re so close.”

Dean shoved away from the table. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s go and hunt some monsters.”

Sam followed Dean. Just like he’d followed him all his life.

***************

They walked towards the Impala in silence. Sam looked around him. “It’s pretty here,” he noted.

Dean made a non-committal noise. “If you like that sort of thing,” he admitted.

“I do,” Sam said.

“You always wanted the white picket fence and the dog,” Dean said and then stopped. His eyes were haunted. “Why the fuck do I know that?”

Sam swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. He didn’t say a word, just waited and watched Dean.

“Why do I know that?” Dean asked again.

“Because you know _me_ ,” Sam told him.

Dean was suddenly in his face, breath hot against Sam’s cheek. “I’m getting fucking sick and tired of hearing that, Sam.” 

Sam took several steps back until his ass hit the door of the Impala. “I’m -”

“Swear to god, you say sorry one more time,” Dean threatened. Sam snapped his mouth shut. Dean was leaning into him, his body a hard line against Sam. “I hate games.”

Sam blinked. “This isn’t a game,” he said.

“How do I know that you’re not some demon minion sent to fuck with my head and make me lose track of my job?” Dean demanded.

Sam stared at him. “I’m helping you hunt a shape-shifter,” he pointed out.

“You could be trying to make me stop worrying about you and then kill me when I trust you.”

“Dean,” Sam tried to step away from the press of Dean’s body but his asshole brother just leaned in harder. “What is going on with you?” Sam asked. “You haven’t questioned my motives before this.”

Dean’s eyes were hard. “Maybe that’s my mistake,” he said. “Maybe I should have asked the questions earlier.”

“I’m human, not under a spell or compulsion,” Sam assured him.

“So say you,” Dean said and his lip curled. “I don’t really know if I can trust you or not.”

“Do you trust _me_ , Dean?” Castiel’s voice made them both start and Dean finally let Sam move away.

“No,” Dean replied bluntly. “You’re an angel and it’s been proven, angels are dicks, remember?” 

Castiel stared at Dean. “You don’t mean that,” he said.

“Oh, I do.” Dean replied.

“He really does,” Sam nodded and Dean looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Sam decided to keep quiet while he still had a tongue.

“Sam is special,” Castiel told Dean and his eyes were very blue and utterly sincere. “He needs you, Dean.”

Dean flinched a little. “I don’t want to be responsible for anybody,” he said. He patted the hood of the Impala and turned the touch into a loving stroke. “She’s all I need to worry about in this world.”

Sam looked at Castiel. “I can’t do this,” he said. He felt every cell in his body crying out, breaking down, giving up.

Castiel touched his forehead and Sam blinked. They were standing in a forest, huge trees watching over them like sentinels. 

“What are you doing?” he asked Castiel. “Dean’s probably freaking the fuck out.”

“You _need_ to make him remember,” Castiel said and for the first time Sam heard fear in his voice.

Sam threw up his hands. “You think I’m not trying?” he shouted and birds crashed out of the trees at the sound. He closed his eyes. “Cas, I can’t do more than what I’m doing now.”

He opened his eyes to see Castiel watching him. “What?” he asked.

“You and Dean are connected in a way that is unhealthy,” Castiel observed. 

Sam’s laugh held no humor. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“My name is Castiel,” Castiel said and Sam laughed again, this time with real amusement. 

“Please, don’t ever change, okay Cas?” he asked. 

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel said. “I am as my Father created me.”

Sam grinned at him. “That’s very good to know,” he said. He patted Castiel’s shoulder. “You’re the one constant in this world for me right now.”

The angel watched him. “I know that this time is a little different,” Castiel told him.

Sam looked at him. “This time?” 

Castiel nodded. “When the Lord resurrected you, he had to make some adjustments.”

“What?” Sam was a little afraid to hear more.

“You don’t think that bringing someone back from the dead has no consequences, do you Sam?” Castiel sounded disappointed, like a parent whose child had failed some kind of test.

“Chuck never said…” Sam protested.

“He is not obliged to tell you everything,” Castiel chided. “The Lord had to change the world for you.”

“Change the world?” Sam stared at Castiel. “I didn’t ask him to do anything like that.”

“When you begged to be returned to life, to Dean, as you know, time had passed. Much had changed in the world you had left behind.”

“Fair enough,” Sam nodded. “That makes sense, I mean, I was dead for a year. But when you say consequences..?” he thought about Bobby being dead and Ellen and Jo being alive. “Some of the changes that he made don’t really make any sense.”

“He had to move some things around to make a place for you in the world.” 

Sam was struggling to follow. “What are you saying?” He willed Castiel to tell him that this wasn’t true, that he’d forced Chuck into creating a world where Bobby wasn’t at the other end of the line calling him an ‘idjit’.

Castiel leveled his gaze. “You have been given this one chance, Sam. There is no other human that the Lord would do this for.” He paused. “Well, He might perhaps make an exception for Dean too.” Castiel appeared a little annoyed. “The Host has never been entirely sure why you Winchesters are so special to Him.”

Sam opened his mouth but Castiel lifted a hand to stop him. “I sincerely doubt that you have a suitable answer for me so perhaps you should just take the gift and not waste it.”

Sam glared at Castiel. “Do you honestly think I’m not trying my fucking best, Cas?” he demanded. “Dean doesn’t remember me, he doesn’t _want_ to remember me.”

Castiel tipped his head to one side, looking like the curious owl Sam remembered from the time that he’d first Fallen. “And yet you have had intercourse with him, despite the fact that he does not know you.”

It felt like a slap to the face and Sam recoiled, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “That’s sort of a bitchy thing to say, dude.”

“You feel guilt, but not remorse,” Castiel noted, his eyes very solemn. “The thing about you and Dean is that you have always been prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure that the other survives.” Sam hated the almost-pity in his gaze.

“He’s my brother,” Sam explained.

“Your complete devotion to one another is both admirable and dangerous,” Castiel said. “Even when one died, the other would not accept it.”

“Lisa and Ben,” Sam tried.

Castiel made a sound that on anyone else would have been a disparaging snort. “Please,” he said, “Dean spent most of that year looking at the world through the bottom of a bottle. There was never a day when you were not the first thought in his mind.”

“Cas.” Sam knew that the Winchester track record was an incredible one by even non-human standards. “I don’t -”

“God understands that some souls are not meant to be apart,” Castiel told Sam and there was something a little warmer in his tone. “Those souls share more than blood, more than love.”

Sam remembered his memories of Heaven. Not the one he’d begged Chuck to kick him out of, but the one that he and Dean had shared for a brief time. “Soulmates,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “Two souls that are part of a whole.” He frowned. “I am sure that is why the Lord has looked the other way when you have fornicated with your brother.”

“Cas!” Sam felt his cheeks heat up. “I only….”

“How will Dean feel if he remembers who you are?” Castiel looked at him. 

“When,” Sam amended.

“When what?” Castiel asked and Sam couldn’t stop his smile.

“I should go back,” he said. “I don’t want Dean worrying.”

Castiel nodded. “You need to make Dean remember,” he said again.

Sam heard something more in his voice, something that he couldn’t quite understand. “Consequences,” he murmured.

Castiel nodded once more. “Yes,” he agreed. “There are always consequences, Sam.” And then Sam blinked and he was standing next to an angry Dean.

***************

“That fucking flying feathered fuckhead!” Dean yelled at the empty air where Cas had been.

Sam’s mind was whirling. He hadn’t thought beyond getting Dean to remember him. He hadn’t considered what the cost would be not just to him but to Dean as well.

“Shit,” he breathed and Dean whirled to face him.

“What did he tell you? What the fuck was that about? And why the hell are you so pally with my angel?” The questions were peppered at him like bursts from a machine gun. Dean’s mouth was white and tight with anger.

Sam held up his hands. “Cas just needed to remind me of some things, is all.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously? Whatever the fuck thing you’ve got going on has something to do with Chuck’s flying dicks?”

Sam looked at Dean. “You know who Chuck is?” he asked.

“Of course I fucking know who Chuck is,” Dean said. “The moment you jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding shotgun on your soul.” And he stopped.

“Dean,” Sam said and there was a sort of panicked, terrified joy buzzing through his veins. “Dean!” 

Dean shook his head and backed away from Sam. “What the fuck?” he asked and Sam wanted to grab him and shake him and tell him everything. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re remembering me,” Sam told him. 

“Who **are** you?” Dean asked again and Sam felt that burst of joy subside.

“I can’t tell you,” he said, utterly miserable.

“You must be important if you were there when Adam said yes to Michael,” Dean mused and leaned with his back against the Impala.

“Adam?” Sam asked, dreading the answer.

“My brother,” Dean said and something bleak swept across his face. “He was the true hero that day when Lucifer wanted to start Armageddon and send the entire world to shit.” He rubbed at his face. “Adam let Michael in so that he could make sure that Lucifer went hellside forever.”

“I know.” Sam kept his words quiet. His memories of Adam were both bitter sad. “He was in the Cage with me for a long time.”

Dean looked at Sam. “You were there. In the pit with my brother and the devil?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I was there,” he admitted.

“So, Lucifer’s vessel,” Dean said. “I never got to meet you officially.”

Sam wanted to his something. “Really?” he asked instead, the question sticking his throat like burning. “You remember me being there that day?”

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said and then stared at Sam. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you, man.” He waved a hand impatiently. “A lot of shit went down that day, with Adam dying and Cas being exploded and Chuck…” he paused. “I met Chuck as God for the first time that day when he healed me and brought Cas back.”

Sam hadn’t been there to see it. He’d already been screaming and dying down beneath the earth.

He only had the memories of hitting Dean so hard that his lip split and his eye swelled up. The simple snap of fingers and Cas bursting apart like a watermelon. He remembered Lucifer jeering at his terrified soul while he’d taken pieces out of Dean’s skin. And the plastic toy soldiers. The Impala. The love. The love. The love.

“So how come you got to play meatsuit to Lucifer and how the fuck are you still alive?” Dean demanded.

Sam flinched. His memories of the Cage weren’t pretty. “Just lucky I guess,” he hedged.

Dean stared at him. “You died.” The statement was blunt, no doubt in his voice.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I died,” he agreed.

“But you came back,” Dean noted.

Sam nodded again. “Here I am,” he held his arms wide, feeling fragile and exposed.

“How did you get back?” Dean asked.

Sam knew that Dean was asking the right questions now. “I had a little help,” he admitted.

“Chuck?” Dean guessed.

“Yeah,” Sam said and because Dean had made the connections with no help from him, the grinding pain in Sam’s belly stayed still and silent.

“So,” Dean paced from one end of the Impala to the other. “You take on Lucifer, die and then come back.” He glanced at Sam and resumed pacing. “You come to me.” He stopped. “You come to me.”

Sam was shaking with fear and anticipation.

“Why did you come to me?” Dean asked and he was in Sam’s face, breath hot against Sam’s skin.

“I can’t…” Sam began.

“Don’t you fucking tell me that you can’t tell me one more time, Sam!” Dean’s expression was lethal. “I think I’ve been more than patient enough with this crap.”

Sam’s laugh was high and a little desperate. “You never did patient all that well,” he said.

“Stop fucking talking to me like you know me!” Dean yelled. “I don’t know you and you sure as fuck don’t know me!” There was a hint of desperation in Dean’s voice as though he no longer believed his own words.

“You know me,” Sam stated, furious suddenly. “You asshole, you _know_ you know me and you’re just being stupid and stubborn and not letting me in!”

“So I saw you once,” Dean said and his mouth was thin. “And that one time you were playing body host to the king of Hell. Forgive me if that doesn’t inspire confidence.”

Sam hated this stubborn-as-shit trait of Dean’s. It was as though Dean refused to even entertain the possibility that he might be wrong. “You almost said yes to Michael,” he snapped and then clenched his jaw shut. That wasn’t supposed to have come out. The warning twist in his belly made him suck in a gasp of pain.

Dean had gone utterly still. “How the fuck do you know that?” he whispered.

Sam slumped against the car and rubbed at the ache in his abdomen. “Believe me, I wish I could tell you, man.” He sounded weary, even to himself and Sam wondered idly if he’d subconsciously given up.

Dean came over to where he was standing and leaned against him. “I never told anyone that I nearly gave in,” Dean said and Sam had to strain to hear him. “I told Cas that Adam deserved the chance to be a hero.” 

Sam slanted his gaze sideways and watched Dean’s downcast face. “You were never going to give up, Dean,” he told him.

“How do you know?” Dean asked again and his weight was warm comfort next to Sam. “Not even I knew that. How do you know most of the shit you know?”

Sam sighed. “I want to tell you. You’ve no idea how much I hate keeping things from you,” he said.

Dean snorted. “Please, you love keeping things from me!” He stopped and rubbed his eyes. “See, that right there is freaking me the fuck out. It’s like I’m two people. The me that I know and have lived with all my life, and the me that keeps getting these insane flashes of knowledge, of a life with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam offered.

Dean flapped a hand at him. “I feel like a fucking yo-yo,” he said and then shoved himself forward, away from the car. “I’m tired of all this emo bullshit,” he declared. “Let’s just shelve this conversation till later. I think I need to go and gank me a monster.”

“A really tiny, cute baby monster,” Sam reminded him, grateful for the reprieve. The filthy look Dean shot him made Sam feel stupidly happy. For one brief moment, it was as though they’d never been apart.

*************

Sam stayed quiet as they headed towards the house on Hillcrest Road. Part of him wanted to talk to Dean, to drag all his memories out of him even if it meant breaking every rule Chuck had imposed. The other part just wanted to sit and stare at Dean. He let his eyes wander over the beyond familiar features of his older brother. Lover. Soulmate.

“Stop staring,” Dean muttered.

Sam flushed and looked at the road. “Sorry,” he said.

“You do that a lot,” Dean observed, turning off the main road and heading towards the Daniels’ home. 

“Do what?” Sam asked, playing dumb and stalling for time.

“Stare at me,” Dean said. “Like you’re scared that if you stop looking at me, I’ll disappear or something.”

Sam sat frozen in his seat. “I didn’t realize…” he said.

Dean glanced over at him. “You think I don’t see you looking at me?” he asked. “I may look stupid but I’ve learned a thing or two about people thanks to my dad.”

Sam bit his lip. “John Winchester wasn’t exactly a model father,” he said and wanted to cut his tongue out. Dean hated any sort of perceived slight against John. He always waded in, fists flying and guns blazing to their dead father’s defense.

“He fucked up a lot,” Dean admitted and Sam almost passed out from shock. “But he was the best hunter I ever knew.”

Sam closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears. This wasn’t his Dean, this strange man who saw John Winchester’s faults and couldn’t see Sam for who he was.

“What is it?” Dean asked and Sam opened his eyes again. “What’s wrong?”

Sam lifted his hand to wipe at the slight dampness on his cheek. “It’s just, you’re different,” he told Dean. “From the way I remember you.”

Dean snorted. “Well, you’re different and I _don’t_ remember you,” he retorted.

Sam gave a little snort of his own. “You’re hilarious,” he said dryly.

Dean tapped his fingers on the wheel in time to some god-awful Def Leppard song that Sam despaired at himself for recognizing. “I’m awesome,” Dean said and it was a physical pain that Sam felt.

“Don’t say that,” he told Dean.

The look he got was way less friendly than the last one. “Don’t tell me what to say, schizoboy,” Dean snapped and Sam gritted his teeth not to snap back.

“It’s just…” he said, tired of not being able to tell Dean things. 

“I said it to you before?” Dean guessed, very obviously not looking at Sam.

“Yeah,” the word was an exhalation. “Kinda a lot.”

Dean nodded to himself. “So, we were close then,” he mused.

“Very,” Sam said.

“See, that doesn’t ring any bells but fuck me if it doesn’t feel right,” Dean told him, turning onto Elm.

“It’s because the memories are pushing to escape, Dean,” Castiel’s voice from the back seat made both of them jerk in surprise.

“So why don’t you help them along with a little truth?” Dean sniped.

“I am bound by the oath that Sam took,” Castiel said and Sam met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Promises were made to be broken,” Dean countered. “Especially those given to Chuck.”

Castiel’s eyes went wide. “You are aware of the Lord?” he asked.

“Yeah, how about that?” Sam said, slouching down in the seat.

Dean pulled the Impala to the curb and turned in his seat to look at Castiel. “Why are you so surprised, Cas?” Sam watched Dean looking at Castiel and the same warmth that was always in Dean’s eyes just wasn’t there. This was a different Dean. This Dean had been shaped by Sam not being part of his life. This Dean was honed like a weapon. This Dean was the one that would have existed in Sam’s world without Sam being in it.

“I didn’t know…” Castiel’s usual calm seemed ruffled and his gaze flickered to Sam. “The Lord didn’t…”

Sam grunted. “Yeah, welcome to my world,” he said, folding his arms.

“Seriously?” Dean alternated his glares between Sam and Castiel. “Now you’re both with the cryptic?”

Castiel opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I had best say nothing,” he told them. “I’m not well-versed in human subterfuge.”

Dean focused his gaze on Castiel. “You mean you won’t lie to my face?” he prodded.

Castiel’s face remained impassive. “That is correct,” he said. He looked at Dean. “But I will tell you this,” he said. “Those headaches that you’ve been suffering from, they’re not just headaches.”

Dean looked at him sharply. “How did you know about the headaches?” he demanded.

Castiel touched a finger to Dean’s forehead. “I’ve been your guardian for a very long time, Dean,” he said. “I know more about you than perhaps anyone, apart from the Lord.” He paused. “And Sam,” he added.

“Sam?” Dean stared at Sam. “Sam doesn’t know me.”

“Are you sure about that, Dean?” Castiel asked and tilted his head to once side, taking them both in with a curious gaze. “Perhaps you should ask Sam and find out for yourself.”

Sam clasped his hands together in front of him. He wasn’t sure whether it was to stop himself from hitting Cas or hugging him. “You’re not exactly helping here, man,” he told Castiel.

“I find it difficult to guard my words,” Castiel admitted. “The constraints put upon me make it quite impossible to speak with you other than in abstract.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Like I said, welcome to my world.” 

Dean watched them both. “You know Sam,” he stated. 

“I told you that I knew Cas,” Sam reminded him.

“No,” Dean shook his head. “You _know_ each other.” He stared at Castiel. “How come you know him?”

Castiel frowned. “I cannot tell you much of our history,” he told Dean. “Not without lying to you or breaking my oath to the Lord.” He made a frustrated sound. “Why Lucifer fought so hard to be able to have the free will to lie, I will never know,” he growled.

“And how come you forgot to mention that Sasquatch here was Lucifer’s meatsuit?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked at Sam. “You told him?” 

“No,” Sam said. “He remembered seeing me jump into the hole.”

Castiel leaned forward between the seats. “What else do you remember Dean?” His voice was urgent. “This is important.”

Dean smacked a hand on the steering wheel. “Stop fucking telling me to remember someone that I only met for a moment while he was possessed by the fucking Devil.” His voice rose until he was shouting.

“Say ‘fuck’ just a bit more, why don’t you?” Sam suggested and Dean’s glare was lethal.

“Shut the fuck up, Sammy!” Dean ordered. “Just because I spent most of my childhood taking care of you…” He stopped and his face went white. “You were three.”

The world stopped moving around them, even the air was heavy with heat and hope. “Yeah,” Sam prompted.

“I was seven,” Dean said and he stared at Sam. “You got lost.”

“You left me,” Sam reminded him.

“You fucking never stayed where I put you,” Dean said. “I must mean, Adam.”

“Adam?” Castiel looked at Sam.

“Adam’s his brother,” Sam explained as he broke a little inside.

“Adam?” Castiel repeated, this time staring at Dean. “I do not understand. Adam is not your…” the rest of the words were muffled behind Sam’s hand.

“No.” Sam warned. “You can’t fuck this up, Cas.”

Castiel’s otherworldly eyes blazed with indignation. Sam hastily removed his hand just in case he ended up losing it.

“I would not jeopardize your position here, Sam.” Castiel’s voice was reproving and Sam felt the reprimand like a whip across his skin.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his hands, not wanting to stare to long at Castiel’s face.

“I am an angel of the Lord, Sam,” Castiel reminded him and Sam glanced up to see Dean rolling his eyes.

“Like you don’t remind us of that every chance you get,” Dean grumbled.

It was such a Dean thing to say that Sam hid his grin behind a very fake sounding cough. Dean’s laughing eyes told him that he hadn’t fooled anyone.

“Tell me about Adam,” Castiel said to Dean, changing tack again.

“Why?” Dean asked. “You know Adam, Cas. He’s not a stranger to you.” His face was puzzled. 

Castiel looked at Sam. “Things have been changed,” he said and he appeared worried. “My memories have been compromised.”

“He fucked with your memories too?” Sam asked, forgetting Dean for a moment.

“Hey!” Dean waved a hand between them. “Still here, girls.”

Castiel opened his mouth to say something but stayed silent. “What?” Sam asked.

“I think it unwise to discuss my memories in front of Dean,” Castiel said.

“Fuck you!” Dean exploded. “I am sick to fucking death of this fucking shit!” His face was white with anger and Sam felt a moment of panic. “Tell me right the fuck now what the fuck is going on with the two of you.”

Castiel reached out to touch Dean’s forehead and he reared back out of reach. “No fucking way, Cas!” He pointed at Castiel. “You don’t get to move me out of the way for this.”

Sam got out of the car and walked to side of the road where a little creek burbled its way towards a thicket of trees. He shoved his hands in his pocket and felt how his shoulders hunched over. Fighting with Dean had always made him unhappy. 

He clambered down the small embankment and crouched down at the water’s edge. The musical sound soothed him. It sort of reminded him of Heaven and that just pissed him off all over again.

He knew Azrael was there before he spoke. “No more time, Sam.” Azrael’s voice was kind but implacable.

“How long?’ Sam asked, not looking at Azrael.

“Hours,” the angel replied. 

Sam sighed and it felt like he had half a world on his chest. “The deck was always stacked against me,” he said softly and trailed his fingers through the cool water.

“The Lord gave you a rare chance to come back to your brother,” Azrael sounded more angel-like than he ever had before.

“Don’t patronize me,” Sam warned.

“I can only speak the truth,” Azrael protested.

“Well, I’m kinda sick of your version of the truth,” Sam told him. “This is a whole other level of Winchester fucked-upness that I can’t believe.”

“You have until midnight,” Azrael told him instead. “If Dean does not remember who you are and what you mean to him then you return to Heaven and Dean carries on with his life.”

Sam closed his eyes. “Will it be the same life?” he asked. “Will Bobby be alive and Ellen and Jo be dead and he’ll at least remember me?” He sort of dreaded the answer.

Azrael didn’t answer for a moment and Sam looked at him. He appeared perturbed. “Azrael?” Sam prompted.

“I cannot answer your question with definitive truth,” Azrael told him. “The Lord has not chosen to gift me with this knowledge.”

“Goddamit, could I just have a fucking straight answer from an angel? Just once?” Sam asked no one in particular.

“All I know is that you have until midnight,” Azrael repeated. “No more time, Sam.” 

Sam hated the pity he saw flash in Azrael’s eyes. “He’s remembering me,” he said.

“Not quickly enough,” Azrael said and then he was gone.

Sam climbed back up the embankment and walked towards the Impala. Dean was leaning against the front grill, ass resting on the hood. “You about done with your bitch fit?” he asked as Sam drew closer.

“You about finished fighting with your angel girlfriend?” Sam countered.

Dean scowled. “I fucking hate angels,” he said.

Sam sat against the car next to Dean. “Cas has been a good friend,” he said.

“Adam never liked him,” Dean said.

Sam waited for him to continue. When Dean didn’t say anything more Sam asked, “Did you ever find out what happened to Adam after he jumped into the Pit?”

Dean’s mouth was tight as he shook his head. “No.” Then he looked at Sam. “How did _you_ get out?” He sounded suspicious.

Sam wondered how much he could say. “Cas came and got me out,” he said.

“Seriously?” Dean seemed incredulous. “Just like he busted me out of Hell?”

“How come you were in Hell?” Sam asked, hoping that this would prompt another memory.

Dean frowned. “I made a deal with a Crossroads demon,” he said.

“A deal for what?” Sam asked.

“My brother’s life,” Dean replied.

“Adam?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Dean said. And stopped. “I mean, no.” He stared at Sam. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“You don’t know?” Sam pushed.

“I mean yes, a deal for Adam’s life,” Dean replied, shaking off his doubt. “I would do anything for my brother.”

Sam felt his chest go tight and his eyes stung a little. “Yeah, I can believe that about you,” he said.

Dean shoved off the car and headed back around to the driver’s side. “Come on, Sammy,” he said, climbing in. “We have a monster to catch.”

Sam nodded and followed suit, trying not to feel his hopes slipping through his fingers. 

Dean started the car and pulled back onto the road. “Someday you gotta tell me about how Cas came and got you out of the Cage,” Dean said without looking at Sam. “Maybe we can compare notes?”

Sam’s laugh held no humor. “Sure, man,” he agreed. “That would be interesting for sure.” He remembered the bleak days of Dean’s months in Hell. It wasn’t a place he liked to go. 

Dean looked at him then. “So did Cas just come down there and bring you topside and that was it?” Sam tensed. “Cause man, when he brought me back I had to dig myself out of my own grave which sucked balls, you know?”

“I…” Sam couldn’t tell him that when Cas and the garrison had rescued him from the Cage it had been to take him straight up to Heaven. That Chuck had given the order to free him and Adam and let the two angelic bastards fight it out in the Cage for the rest of eternity.

“Right,” Dean nodded sourly. “Another thing you can’t tell me.”

“You were supposed to go back to Lisa and Ben,” Sam blurted. “Have some sort of normal life. Get out of hunting.”

Dean’s shocked eyes met his. “How the fuck did you..?” he asked. His fingers flexed on the wheel as he turned into Hillcrest Road. “Adam told me to do that,” he said instead. “But seriously, that dumb fuck knew nothing about me if he thought that I was going to just let him rot down there without trying everything I could to get him out.”

“You’re a loyal brother,” Sam said neutrally.

“I love my family,” Dean said. He pulled up to the curb outside the Daniels’ home. “Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I would do anything to protect them.” His laugh was short and bitter. “Not that I have any blood relatives left but hunting makes family of people.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied and climbed out. “Family isn’t always blood.”

Dean pulled out his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Jo and Ellen, they’re family,” he said. “Cas, he’s family, even though I want to strangle the cryptic fucker most of the time.” 

Sam nodded. “Bobby’s family too,” he said without thinking.

Dean whirled on him and poked him in the chest. “Bobby _was_ family.” His voice was low and vicious. “ _My_ family.”

Sam’s throat worked as he tried to control the words fighting to spill out of him. “You don’t know everyone that Bobby knew, Dean. You don’t know what he was like with me.” He was angry and hurt and so fucking frustrated with the situation that he wanted to break something.

“Bobby never mentioned you,” Dean was right up in his face, mouth thin and eyes dark. “If he never mentioned you to me then you couldn’t have been all that important.”

“Fuck you,” Sam shoved Dean who stumbled back. “You’re the most stubborn asshole in the history of the world and right now I wish…” He stopped, biting back the words that wanted to tumble out.

“Come on, you know you want to say it,” Dean taunted. “Just say it and get this shit done, Sammy.”

Sam lifted a hand to his face, rubbed his eyes. “God, you always made me completely crazy, Dean.”

“I don’t know you!” Dean roared, his breath hot on Sam’s cheek.

“Yes you do!” Sam shouted back and then Dean was kissing him, his mouth a brand against Sam’s. They fought for dominance for a few seconds and then Sam slumped against Dean, his arms coming around Dean and holding on.

They kissed hard and desperate and then Dean pulled back. “This is so fucked up,” he said and dropped his forehead on Sam’s shoulder. 

“”Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Completely.” He put his hands on Dean’s hips, enjoying the brief respite. It was likely the only one he was going to get for a while.

“I look at you and I see a stranger but my body knows that it trusts you.” Dean stared up at him. 

“You’ve known me all my life,” Sam said, keeping his voice low. “I just need you to remember how you know me.”

Dean held his gaze. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“That’s not how it works,” Sam reminded him. “You have to remember first.”

Dean stepped away from him. “I can’t remember someone I don’t know,” he said.

Sam bit his lip. “Then there’s nothing more I can say,” he said and looked past Dean to where Bianca Daniels was walking towards him. “Show time,” he murmured and plastered on a smile.

“Hi guys, I saw you from the sitting room window and was wondering if you were going to come in.” Her smile was friendly but a little cautious. Sam really didn’t blame her if she’d seen any of the crap that had just gone down.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Dean stepped forward and held out a hand. “Sam and I were just having a disagreement about the road and I decided to stop the argument the old-fashioned way.”

Sam flushed and Bianca’s face relaxed into a more genuine smile as she shook Dean’s hand. “Well, I certainly am not going to argue with old-fashioned solutions,” she said. “There’s a reason they’ve been around so long.”

“Where’s Teresa?” Sam asked, looking around for the little girl.

Bianca motioned back to the house. “She’s having a nap. We were baking cookies this morning and it tired her out.” She started walking back up the path. “Come on in, I’ve put the kettle on.”

Sam and Dean followed her, exchanging meaningful looks that said that this conversation was not over. “What sort of cookies?” Dean asked and Sam poked him.

“Sorry, Dean here was brought up in a barn and has no manners.” Sam leveled a quelling look at Dean who blithely ignored it, hurrying to catch up to Bianca.

“If they’re chocolate chip then I may just have to divorce Sam and marry you.” Dean was only half-joking, Sam knew. If there was any love second only to the Impala, it was Dean’s stomach.

“I baked chocolate chip and I also made some shortbread,” Bianca answered with a laugh. “Teresa loves shortbread.”

“Dean may just have to fight me for you,” Sam noted with a grin. 

Bianca went a pretty pink and ducked her head. “Now, stop flirting with me, you two, I’m a married woman.”

“She didn’t say happily, now did she Sammy?” Dean asked and Sam shook his head with a smile.

“No, she didn’t,” he said.

Bianca led the way into the house and it opened up to a large open-plan living room and kitchen. She pointed them to the living room area. “Make yourselves comfortable,” she said. “I’ll just bring out the coffee and cookies.”

Dean went into the welcoming room and headed to the fireplace. Several photos of the Daniels family were spread across the lintel. 

Sam headed to the kitchen where Bianca was putting mugs on a tray. “Can I help?” he asked.

Bianca waved him off with a smile. “Oh no,” she said. “I love entertaining and I just don’t get enough of a chance to do it.”

“You mentioned that your husband would be here.” Sam kept one eye on Dean as he poked around the sitting room.

Bianca nodded. “He’s just stopping to get some milk and sugar.” She put a plate of cookies on the tray and Sam tried not to drool. “I’m so forgetful sometimes.”

“He’s a good husband?” Sam asked and flinched when Bianca gave him an odd look.

“Well, he’s my first so I don’t have too much to compare him to, but he’s working out okay.” Her gaze flickered to Dean who was paging through a car magazine. “Is _he_ a good husband?”

Sam followed her gaze and felt his heart clench at the sight of Dean beaming at a picture of a car that would never be within his reach. “He makes me crazy, but yeah, he’s alright.”

They exchanged smiles and Bianca put a couple of small plates on the tray as well. “How long were you together before you decided to get married?” she asked.

“It feels like we’ve been together forever,” Sam answered and looked at Dean again. “He’s the most important person in my life and sometimes I think he doesn’t get it.”

Bianca patted his arm in sympathy. “The way he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t looking tells me that he feels the same way.”

Sam tore his gaze from Dean to look at her. “You picked that up after a few minutes with us?”

Bianca gave a small shrug. “Before I had Teresa I was working towards my degree in psychology,” she explained. “Part of my study was non-verbal communication.” She added a couple of teaspoons to the tray. “And you and Dean are all about the non-verbal.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “He’s not exactly the most communicative person in the world,” he admitted. “But I understand him.”

“You love him very much,” Bianca noted.

Sam wondered if he was carrying a sign that declared that he loved Dean Winchester. “I married him,” he said instead.

Bianca’s face was chiding. “Love isn’t anything to be ashamed of, Sam.”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean’s arm slipped around his waist and he slid in under Sam’s arm. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Sam and Bianca exchanged an incredulous look and then started laughing. “What?” Dean asked, bewildered.

“Babe, if you’re going to quote lines from a movie at me, then at least choose something a little more redeeming than _Love Story_ , okay?” Sam squeezed Dean’s shoulder.

“Oh fuck you,” Dean muttered and then flushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled to Bianca.

“You two are adorable,” she said instead and then stopped. “Teresa’s awake,” she said and left the kitchen. They watched her turn into a room and heard the murmur of voices, the teary gasps of a child just woken from sleep.

“I like her,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean stayed beneath the weight of Sam’s arm. “Pity about the monsters she’s living with.”

Sam felt bleak. “Do you think she knows what her husband really is?”

Dean sighed. “The kid has probably shifted at least once already. No way she doesn’t know there’s something weird about her child by now.”

Sam knew that Dean was making sense but he hated the thought of killing a child. “Maybe the father…” He trailed off as Bianca came back out of the room with a miserable Teresa on her hip.

“Hey baby, do you remember Sam and Dean from yesterday?” she crooned.

Teresa rubbed her eyes with tiny fists and blinked at them. Sam clenched his jaw, mentally preparing for the moment that he’d have to take that little life.

“Hi,” Dean moved closer and bent over at his waist, trying to disguise his height so as not to scare the little girl. She stared intently at him for a moment, her plump cheek creased with sleep.

Sam held his breath.

Then she reached out one pudgy hand and smacked Dean on the nose. Sam was torn between laughing at the pained expression on Dean’s face or laughing at the pleased delight on Teresa’s.

“Oh my god!” Bianca exclaimed, putting Teresa down on the floor and rushing to sink to get a cloth. “I am so sorry!”

Dean held a hand over his nose and waved at her. “No probleb,” he said and the nasally words made Sam snicker. “I’b beed hut harder than thad before.”

Teresa wailed from the floor, furious at being left to fend for herself while Bianca came back with a damp cloth. Sam crouched down to meet Teresa’s eyes. “None of that now,” he told her, holding her gaze. “You hit Dean in the face and that wasn’t very nice.”

Diamond bright tears hung on long lashes and her bottom lip quivered dangerously for a moment. Sam pulled a face at her and she gave a startled burble of laughter. Her hand came out again, this time to latch onto Sam’s fingers. He sat down on the floor and allowed her to pull herself up, using him as leverage.

“She really likes you,” Bianca commented from where she stood, holding the cloth to Dean’s nose.

“Kids are easy.” Sam smiled at Teresa who said something incomprehensibly babylike back to him.

“That’s because you’re still a kid yourself,” Dean said, taking the cloth from Bianca’s hand and doing the business himself.

“Shut up,” Sam told him but there was no heat in the words.

Teresa banged on Sam’s knee and he obediently brought his attention back to her. She chattered at him and he nodded at all the appropriate places, keeping one eye on Dean and Bianca.

They’d moved to the largest sofa in the room with the tray of coffee and cookies and Dean bit down into a chocolate chip cookie with an almost orgasmic noise. Sam recognized that sound and he was programmed to react.

He cleared his throat and concentrated on Teresa. She was very intent on prying his fingers apart, laughing when he opened and clenched his fist several times. When he wouldn’t open up she glared at the offending hand and then stared up at him, eyes liquid and lip jutting.

“You’re just a little dictator, aren’t you?” Sam let her grab a finger and gnaw on it.

“Teresa, no, don’t do that sweetie!” Bianca scooped Teresa up and away from Sam. “Biting is never acceptable.”

The dangerous bottom lip started shuddering again and Sam panicked. “She looks like she’s going to cry,” he told Bianca, utterly confounded.

“She’s a crier,” Bianca confirmed with a fond smile at Teresa. “She’s just started learning the power of the pout and has managed to con everyone but her father and me.”

Dean gave a mock salute from his seat in the sitting room. “That’s the way, kid. Train the adults from when you’re a baby. It makes things a whole lot easier when you become an adult.”

Bianca gave a small laugh and bounced a frustrated Teresa on her hip. “I can tell that’s a policy you’ve followed all of your life, Dean.”

His smile was lazy as he met Sam’s eyes. “Sammy knows just how to get me to do whatever he wants,” he told her. “He has these eyes, see?”

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I have eyes but not ‘eyes’,” he muttered.

“No, no, Sam, you use the puppy dog eyes like a lethal weapon,” Dean reminded him.

Bianca shushed Teresa who wriggled to get free. “You _do_ have those eyes,” she said.

Sam scowled and reached out to Teresa who had made a grab for him again. “There is nothing special about my eyes,” he said.

“It’s the combination of the pretty with the pitiful,” Dean confided to Bianca who handed Teresa over to Sam with another laugh.

“I think that it’s wonderful how comfortable you are with each other, despite only just being married,” she said.

“Yeah, well, Sam’s my best friend as well as my husband,” Dean told her, surprising Sam with his candor. “I give him a hard time but I miss him when he’s gone.”

Bianca’s face went soft with emotion and Sam waited for Dean to make a wisecrack and negate the vaguely sappy comment. But he didn’t. He just stared at Sam.

“Well, I think it’s adorable,” Bianca said and motioned Sam to come and sit down again. Teresa seemed perfectly content in his arms and he amused her for a moment by making raspberry noises. The hearty gurgle of laughter made the thought of killing her unbearable.

Sam concentrated on Teresa for a moment, looking at dark head of hair and the almost black eyes. He was sure her eyes had been lighter yesterday. “So who does she take after then?” he asked Bianca.

She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s me and sometimes it’s Colin,” she said. “Teresa is really her own person. We just gave her the DNA to get started.”

Sam looked at Dean who had gone very quiet. “She’s a happy kid,” Dean said eventually.

“Colin grew up in a broken home,” Bianca said. “When we moved here we made the decision to raise Teresa as far from our own upbringing as possible.”

“Has it worked?” Dean asked.

Bianca’s smile was a little sad now. “You can’t always outrun your past, you know.” She reached out and ran a careful hand over Teresa’s head. “We do what we can, but our families are pretty determined not to stay away.” She stopped suddenly and shook her head. “Good grief, listen to me talking such nonsense to you two.” She offered Sam a cookie.

He took one and bit into it. He could totally understand Dean’s sounds of pleasure from before and closed his eyes briefly to savor the taste. The flavors burst in his mouth, rich chocolate coating his tongue. He chewed a few times and then opened his eyes to find Dean and Bianca staring at him. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Teresa’s eyes were fixed on him, wide with fascination.

“Great cookie,” he told Bianca, hastily swallowing the delicious mouthful.

She waved a hand at the plate. “Help yourself.” 

Teresa settled against Sam, her little body a warm solid weight on his chest. Sam held still, unused to handling children. She made an unhappy noise when he continued to sit rigid and started fussing again.

“Let me…” Bianca made to take her from him but Dean was there faster.

“I’ve had plenty of experience with babies,” he said, lifting Teresa into his arms with expert ease. She opened her mouth to wail but then stopped at Dean’s stare. Bianca hovered for a moment and then settled back once she saw that Dean knew what he was doing.

“You have children of your own?” she asked.

Dean shook his head, never taking his eyes off the baby. “No, I spent most of my childhood taking care of my little brother.” His words were matter-of-fact and Sam ached. “My mom died when he was just a baby and my dad…” He paused and Sam could see the struggle. 

“Well, I think you turned out very well all things considered,” Bianca offered. “And your brother?”

Dean’s face closed off. “He died,” he said shortly and jiggled Teresa on his lap, making her giggle.

“Oh,” Bianca’s voice was very small. “I’m so sorry.” She looked over at Sam, helpless sorrow in her eyes. He gave a small shrug. This monster hunt was turning into something a lot deeper and he wasn’t sure how to stop it. “When did he die?”

Bianca was obviously one of those people who when confronted with a story, needed to hear it. Sam had never known Dean to tell the truth, especially when it involved actual feelings, so he sat there, waiting for Dean to spin some tale.

“About a year ago,” Dean said, not looking at either of them. 

Sam felt the grief come up and choke him. Dean was mourning _him_ not Adam who had barely even had a chance to register on the Winchester radar. He felt usurped, discarded and ignored. Having any sort of response here right now, would only be a bad thing.

“It must still hurt then,” Bianca said and something in her tone of voice told Sam that she had experienced something very similar. 

Dean obviously picked up on it too because he lifted his head and asked, “Someone you love died?

She nodded. “My parents died just after I married Colin.” She fiddled with her wedding band. “They never got to meet Teresa.”

“That blows,” Dean said and Bianca stared at him. 

“It was a tough time,” she said. “Thank god for Colin.”

“He helped you cope?” Sam asked, wanting to focus more on the shifter they were there to kill and less on the emotions that were heavy in the room.

Bianca nodded. “I was an only child,” she said. “They left me a lot of money and some property and I was completely unprepared to cope in the world on my own.”

“And in came Colin to the rescue?” Dean asked.

Bianca shook her head this time. “Oh, Colin didn’t rescue me.” She smiled at them. “ _We_ rescued each other.”

Dean gave a startled snort. “You were the knight on the white horse for one another?”

She watched Teresa playing with the braid around Dean’s neck. “Helping Colin made me stronger,” she said. “Made me more able to make decisions.” She looked at her watch. “He’s going to be here soon and I know he was looking forward to meeting you.”

“How did you meet him?” Sam asked.

She leaned back in her chair. “Well, I’m not sure what it is about you two that makes me want to tell you my life story but as I’m hoping we’ll get to be neighbors I supposed it can’t hurt.” She clasped her hands. “Colin was hired to perform at my parents’ funeral.”

Sam gaped. “A clown at a funeral?” He couldn’t imagine anything more disturbing.

“Someone sure had a weird sense of humor,” Dean said. Teresa spat up a little on Dean’s shirt and Sam watched fascinated as he calmly wiped it away with her bib.

“My dad,” she clarified. “He always said that when he died he was going to throw a party. Clowns were a requirement.” She sounded a little choked up and Sam reached out for her hand without thinking. She held on tight.

“He hit on you at the funeral?” Dean asked.

Bianca seemed appalled at the thought. “No way,” she said. “He was funny and sweet and completely useless at his job.”

Sam really wanted to know what had sent a shapeshifter into the clown business. He doubted he was going to get the chance to ask before they killed him. 

“I drank too much that day and passed out.” Bianca’s eyes were slightly blurry as she remembered the occasion. “My tolerance for alcohol has not improved.”

“Dean can drink ten men under the table and still drive home,” Sam told her. 

“Twenty,” Dean boasted and they were rewarded with a small smile.

“Anyway, when I woke up, I was on my sofa with a blanket tucked around me, a glass of water on the coffee table and two aspirin next to it.” 

“Colin,” Sam guessed.

She nodded. “Only, I have never had a hangover in my life so I was not ready for just how bad it would be.”

Dean let Teresa lean back against him, her eyes drooping closed. “Been there, done that, bought all the nastiest t-shirts.” He slanted a look over at Sam. “I can’t make excuses for the number of times I’ve tried to mask the pain with booze.”

“It never works, right?” Bianca asked.

“Never,” Dean agreed.

“What did you do when you woke up?” Sam wanted to hear the rest of this, wanted to get an idea of the sort of monster they were dealing with.

“Got very, very sick,” she said and Dean made an amused sound.

“And Colin?” Sam prompted.

“He was in the kitchen making me breakfast,” Bianca said. “He never left.”

The sound of a car made them all look towards the front door and Bianca jumped to her feet. “That’s him!” she declared, heading for the door. 

She threw it open and raced outside. Sam looked at Dean. “What do we do?” he asked.

“Our job,” Dean replied, looking very unlike deadly Dean Winchester with a little girl cuddled up to his chest.

“He doesn’t sound the dangerous kind,” Sam offered.

“All monsters need to be ganked, Sammy,” Dean reminded him. “No exceptions.”

Sam remembered Amy and wondered what Dean would say if he told him that he’d let a Kitsune escape. “We don’t get to be judge, jury and executioner,” he said.

“When it comes to monsters, yeah, we do,” Dean said and his face was fierce. “We don’t choose which monsters to let live. We kill them all. Dad taught us…” he made a frustrated noise. “Dad taught me and Adam that the only good monster was a dead monster.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something and Dean glared at him. “Look at the massive fuckup that happened when you fucked Ruby.”

Sam’s jaw snapped closed and he stared at Dean. “You remember Ruby?” His entire body trembled. Ruby had been the reason that he and Dean had started keeping secrets from one another.

“Of course I remember the Hellbitch,” Dean snapped. “You fucked her and destroyed the world.” He stopped. “That’s not my memory,” he said.

“It’s mine,” Sam said.

Before they could speak again, Bianca came back with a small-built guy who looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. Sam could see why he worked as a clown with his big eyes and ears and prominent nose.

“Sam, Dean, this is my Colin,” Bianca said proudly. 

Dean stood up, carefully putting Teresa down on the sofa he’d been sitting on. “Dean Smith,” Dean held out a hand and Colin Daniels shook it gingerly.

“Sam Wesson, his husband,” Sam said, offering his own hand. 

Colin relaxed immediately, visibly relieved that the two strangers in his home were not a threat to his marriage. Sam allowed himself a small smile.

“You’re the guys that Bee mentioned last night,” Colin said.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, we’re here on honeymoon and Rachel Castille told us about the town. She mentioned Hillcrest Road as the street to live in here.” He put on his most innocuous smile and Sam watched as yet another person fell under the Winchester spell.

“We like it here,” Colin said. “Springfield has been very good to us.” The couple exchanged a loving smile. Teresa chose that moment to protest being ignored.

Bianca hurried to where she was sitting and pulled her up into her arms. “Sorry, baby,” she crooned, swinging the baby in a slow arc. “Didn’t mean to leave you there.”

Teresa spotted her father and held out chubby arms with a happy screech. Colin took her with a laugh. “Hello my angel,” he said and cuddled her in close, kissing a soft cheek.

Sam watched them, feeling sick about what he and Dean were going to have to do.

“Dean and Sam were thinking of buying here,” Bianca told Colin.

He smiled at them over the baby’s dark head. “It’s a really nice place to live,” he said. He looked at Bianca. “We had a few problems when we decided to get married, family issues. It was good to have a town like this to come to.”

Dean nodded and Sam saw his hands flexing. He was getting ready to make his move. Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “We like the vibe here,” he said to Colin. “Seems like people live and let live.”

Colin blew a raspberry on a laughing Teresa’s stomach and frowned when Bianca came and took her away. 

“You’re over stimulating her,” Bianca chided and on cue Teresa began to wail. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry sweetie,” Colin ran a hand over Bianca’s hair. “I just miss her when I’m gone.”

Over the increasing volume of Teresa’s cries, Bianca apologized, “I’m going to see if I can get her to eat something before she shatters glass.”

Colin motioned them to sit down again and helped himself to a cookie. “Bee makes the best cookies,” he confided around a mouthful.

Sam knew that Colin was a shifter, a monster wearing a human guise, but sitting here in his living room drinking coffee and eating cookies, he didn’t seem dangerous at all.

“I’m a cookie connoisseur,” Dean said, taking another cookie. “She’s probably in my top ten.” 

Sam watched Bianca with Teresa in the kitchen for a few moments and then turned back to Colin. “So, a clown huh?”

Colin shrugged and made a face. “It sort of found me and once I started, seeing the kids’ faces, it became a passion.”

“Sam is scared of clowns,” Dean said, a fine spray of cookie crumbs landing on Sam’s hand.

“I am not scared of them,” Sam gritted, glaring at Dean. “I just think they’re creepy.”

Dean brayed a laugh that sent even more crumbs flying. “I remember when he saw a clown for the first time at Plucky Pennywhistle’s.” Sam kicked out him and Dean yelped when he connected. “Don’t be a bitch, Sammy.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Dean,” Sam said.

“It sounds like you’ve known each other for a very long time,” Colin said, looking between them.

Dean nodded. “Some days, Colin, it feels like forever, you know what I mean?”

Colin nodded, his gaze going to Bianca. “Like you weren’t alive until that special person was in your life?” 

Dean looked startled and then stared at Sam. “Something like that,” he murmured and Sam held his breath. “I remember you hated Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie.”

Sam waited for him to say something more but when he didn’t Sam said, “The clowns just freaked me out. I think one of them may have tried to touch me.” They had forgotten that they had an audience.

Dean’s eyes went hot. “And you never told me?” he demanded. 

Sam shook his head. “I was three, Dean. I didn’t know what a ‘bad touch’ was.”

“Tell me now and I’ll go and take care of that fucker,” Dean was about to leap to his feet when he remembered the Daniels and flushed a little. “Wow, sorry about that,” he said. “I guess I forgot myself.”

“You’re married, right?” Colin asked, eyes wide.

“Newly married,” Sam added. “But we’ve known each other all our lives.”

“Except when we met each other again, we sort of didn’t remember,” Dean added.

Sam felt a sharp jolt to his chest and he watched Dean closely.

Colin frowned. “How is that possible?” he asked.

Sam was wondering when the actual job was going to happen, but Dean seemed pretty comfortable talking to the monster they’d come to kill.

“Well see, Sam and I were in the same school as kids, grew up together and then I moved away when I was seven.” Sam held his breath. This was his and Dean’s life the way Dean remembered it thanks to Chuck’s little memory tweaks. Iy wasn’t the life they’d actually lived.

“And how did you find each other again?” Colin asked.

Sam waited for Dean to reply but his brother seemed frozen. “I…” Dean said and his gaze flew to meet Sam’s. “We met up again when Sam was fourteen and I was eighteen,” Dean whispered and Sam wanted to jump up and cheer and shout and cry all at the same time.

“Yeah,” Sam added and he hoped that the fact that his voice cracked a little wasn’t too noticeable. “Dean drove past me in the Impala and I just knew it was him.”

Colin made an admiring noise. “That big black beauty of a beast on my sidewalk?” he asked.

“My other love,” Dean confirmed. “Second only to Sam, of course.” He was pale and Sam grabbed his hand to steady him.

“We don’t like to think about how life could have taken us in completely different directions if we hadn’t met on that day,” Sam said.

Dean, recovering quickly, made a derisive snort. “And Sam wins the award for being the biggest chick in the room.” But he was smiling and he didn’t remove his hand.

Bianca came back to sit next to Colin, Teresa on one hip and a bowl of something violently orange in the other hand. “Well, I think you two are just adorable,” she said and propped Teresa on her lap.

The baby scowled at the spoonful of orange goo heading for her mouth and stubbornly clamper her lips shut. Sam couldn’t stop the chuckle when Bianca eventually put the spoon down in frustration. “I wouldn’t eat that either,” Dean told her. “It looks radioactive.”

Bianca tried to glare at him but started laughing. “Seriously, it’s her favorite food but I think you’re too much of a distraction for her.”

“Give her here then,” Dean said, holding out his arms. Sam stared as Bianca handed Teresa and her food over and watched in amazement as he calmly started feeding her. 

“You’re like a savant,” he said. “A baby savant.”

Dean tried to scowl but he was obviously having too much fun. “Whatever, Samantha. You’re just jealous ‘cause the baby likes me best.”

Sam held up his hands. “Dude, you are so on your own there. Kids were never in my life plans.”

Bianca frowned. “But surely now that you two are married, you’ll at least consider adoption or surrogacy?” She took Colin’s hand. “I have to tell you that having a child totally changed the way I look at the world.”

Dean met Sam’s gaze and Sam could practically see how his mind was working. “You don’t want children?” Dean asked, using the same lip wobble that Teresa had used so effectively a while ago. “What kind of man did I marry?”

Sam rolled his eyes as Biance and Colin laughed. “I must have done something pretty bad in another life to deserve this moron,” he told them.

Dean blew him a kiss. “Aw, don’t be like that, baby. I love you even though you won’t carry my baby.”

Sam bit his lip not to reply with something that wasn’t suitable for little ears. “Payback’s a bitch, bitch,” he warned.

Teresa chose then to vomit up her orange goop all over Dean and Bianca gave a little shriek and ran to the kitchen to get a cloth. Colin took Teresa from Dean and she promptly began grousing.

“Oh god, all I’ve been doing today is cleaning up Teresa’s messes on you,” Bianca fussed, wiping ineffectively at Dean’s shirt with a damp cloth.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean told her with a wave. “I can get blood out of any piece of clothing, baby puke should be a cinch.” 

“Blood?” Colin asked. “What line of work are you in then?”

Sam wondered what Dean would come back with and whether he’d be able to keep up.

“I’m in animal control,” Dean replied, smooth as always. “It’s a tough job and sometimes it sucks, but it’s necessary.”

“Animal control?” Bianca asked, still wiping at Dean’s chest. Sam sort of wanted to ask if she was enjoying herself. Dean eventually wrested the cloth from her and started working on the mess himself.

“You know, snakes, wolves, raccoons, all critters in the wrong places,” Dean said. 

“That probably can be quite dangerous,” Bianca said. 

Sam noticed that Colin had gone very still, eyes intent on Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean said, not looking up, carefully avoiding eye contact. “But I’m really good at my job.” 

Colin sat up straight, his fingers clenched tightly on the sofa arm. “Bianca, why don’t you take Teresa to her room, settle her down a little?” he suggested. “Maybe all the excitement of meeting new friends has been too much for her.”

Bianca stared at him and then accepted the baby he’d thrust out at her. “But, she’s fine now,” she protested. True enough, Teresa was calmly watching the goings on, dark eyes wide and interested.

“Please,” Colin said. “Just take her to her room.”

With another puzzled look, Bianca obeyed her husband’s urging and headed down the passage to Teresa’s room.

When the door closed behind her, Colin squared his shoulders. “You’re hunters,” he stated, not a question in his voice.

“Yes,” Sam replied and found himself wanting to apologize.

“I’m guessing you’re here for me,” Colin said.

“Right again,” Dean said, dropping the cloth to the tray. He put both hands on his thighs. “You’ve been killing people.”

Colin sighed. “Only those men who deserve it,” he said.

“Why?” Sam asked. “You have a good life here, for a shifter anyway. Bianca and Teresa aren’t enough for you?”

“What?” Colin stared at him. “Bianca and Teresa are _everything_ to me. It’s why I do what I do.”

“Kill people,” Dean said, voice flat.

“Take care of men who don’t pull their weight,” Colin amended. “I do my research.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “So you’re the good guy here?” he asked.

Colin made a noise. “I have tried to be a good husband, a good father,” he said. “When I fell in love with Bianca, my family told me that it would never work.”

“Because she’s a human and you’re not,” Sam said.

“Because shifters are supposed to just breed with humans and then move on.” Colin ran a hand through his hair. “We’re not supposed to fall in love, settle down, have a family.”

Dean nodded. “Fuck them, have a monster baby and move on to the next one.”

“Yes,” Colin said. “But I fell in love with Bianca and didn’t want the traditional shifter life. I wanted roots, permanence.”

“And that didn’t sit well with your family,” Sam guessed.

“No, it really didn’t.” Colin stood up and paced a little. “When Teresa came along, I let my family know, just so they could see that they’d been wrong, that commitment and determination could keep the monster at bay.”

“Dude, the monster _always_ beats the good side,” Dean said. 

“But then I figured that if I channel the desire to hunt, to change, then I’d be okay.” Colin swallowed hard. “The first man was an alcoholic bastard who used his kid as a punching bag.”

“That doesn’t make what you did right.” Sam tried to be gentle.

“It felt terrible,” Colin admitted and he came to sit in front of them on the coffee table. “I was scared shitless. I’d always been part of a pack when I hunted. Always been with my family. Hunting alone was terrifying.”

“It’s why Sam and I stick together,” Dean said. “It’s always good to have backup.”

“I didn’t need it,” Colin told them. “Killing the first guy was the hardest. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried.”

“You are so not cut out to be a monster,” Sam told him.

Colin’s laugh was bitter. “I’ve gotten better,” he assured them. “A couple of seconds and they’re gone.”

Dean looked towards the door where Bianca and Teresa were. “Bianca knows about you?” he asked.

Colin shook his head. “No and I’d rather die than let her find out about what I am.”

“It’s in your genes, man,” Dean said. “Nothing you can actually do about it.”

“I can try.” Colin looked at them. “So, what’s next?”

Sam didn’t want to kill this guy. He knew where he was coming from. He’d been in his shoes for a year while he’d been swallowing demon blood and exorcising demons at Ruby’s behest. He’d been so sure he was right, so certain of his convictions. And then the house of cards had come tumbling down. He’d broken the last seal, released Lucifer and he’d been living with the consequences ever since.

“Well, I don’t like to be so blunt,” Dean said. “But next for you is a silver bullet.” He sounded almost apologetic.

“I don’t want to die.” Colin clasped his hands in front of him. “I could promise never to kill again.”

Dean made a noise. “We all know that it would be a promise you’d break in a heartbeat. Sometime, somewhere, you’d kill again.” He shook his head. “It’s in your nature to kill. It’s who you are.”

“I don’t want to leave Bianca and Teresa,” Colin said. “They’re vulnerable.”

Sam thought about Jo Harvelle. “I have someone who would keep an eye on them. Keep them safe.”

“ _I_ want to keep them safe,” Colin said and he sounded less resigned, more angry. Sam tensed. He could feel Dean doing the same.

“That’s not going to be possible, man.” Dean still sounded gentle, matter of fact.

“Why not?” Colin demanded. “Don’t I have the right to live my life?”

Dean leveled a stare at him. “Not on this planet,” he said.

Colin was moving towards them before Dean had finished speaking. 

Dean stood up in one fluid movement and ducked to avoid Colin’s outstretched arms. “Go and deal with the kid,” he told Sam.

The sound that came from Colin’s throat affirmed that he wasn’t human. “You okay to handle this?” Sam asked.

“Go,” Dean ordered.

Sam went.

*********************

He heard the sound of hand to hand combat behind him and wondered why Bianca hadn’t come out to investigate. When he pushed the door of the room open his question was answered.

Bianca and Teresa were curled up together on the bed. Bianca’s eyes were closed but Teresa’s were open. She was staring straight at him.

“Fuck,” Sam breathed and reached behind him to his waistband and pulled out his gun. It was already filled with silver bullets in anticipation of this hunt. But here, now, looking into the wide and innocent eyes of this child, Sam couldn’t do it.

“Sam,” Azrael was suddenly beside him. “You have no more time.”

And the air went out of the world. “No,” Sam whispered. “I have until midnight, you promised.”

“The terms of the agreement have changed,” Azrael told him.

“He’s remembering more and more,” Sam said, desperate. “He remembered Plucky Pennywhistle and finding me again when I was fourteen.”

“And yet he doesn’t remember _you_ , Sam.” Azrael’s gaze fell on Teresa. “You are to destroy the abominations and return to Heaven.” His hand fell on Sam’s shoulder. “Do not worry. Dean will be with you before you have the chance to miss him.”

Sam had eventually hated Ruby. Her final betrayal had broken something in him that had never been fixed. He hated Lucifer. The things that the fallen angel had done to him while he was locked up with him in the Cage still woke him up screaming.

But until this moment, Sam had not truly known hate. He stared at Azrael’s lovely face. “You are so full of fucking bullshit,” he said.

Azrael appeared genuinely shocked. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said.

“You talk about love and free will and choice and it’s all utter bullshit,” Sam spat. He turned so that his back was to the bed and he was staring Azrael in the eyes. “You offered me this chance with the intention of taking it away.” He was so angry right now he was shaking.

“Sam, the Lord…” 

“Fuck the Lord and the cloud he rode in on!” Sam yelled. “I’m done with all your games and cryptic speeches and crap.”

“Sam?” Bianca’s voice behind him made him stop. He turned to look at her and saw that Teresa was about to start crying. “What’s going on?”

She must have heard the sounds of fighting in the living room because she was up and off the bed, running before she’d finished asking the question.

He wondered if she’d even seen Azrael. “You need to go,” he told the angel. “Tell Chuck that he promised me until midnight. Changing the goalposts would be bad for business.”

Azrael’s gaze was pitiless and for the first time Sam saw that huge black shadow of his wings stretched out behind him. “I am an angel of the Lord, not your messenger, Sam Winchester. I do not tell the Lord what to do.”

Sam stepped closer. “He made a bargain with me. He’s God so he doesn’t change. You tell him that I have until midnight.” He poked a finger against Azrael’s chest. “And you don’t get to threaten me, asshole.”

He was flung across the room violently, hitting the brightly painted nursery wall with a crack. His head smashed into the brick and he fell to the floor.

He heard Teresa sobbing and looked up to see Azrael standing over her. “No!” he shouted and lunged forward, throwing his entire body weight against the angel who didn’t budge. “Leave her alone!” he said, moving to stand between Azrael and Teresa.

“Do not try to stop me, Sam,” Azrael said and Teresa’s screams intensified.

Sam spun on his heel and picked up the baby. “I won’t let you kill her,” he declared, forgetting everything his father had taught him about monsters. For Sam, this child was pure, innocent, deserving of life.

Azrael lunged towards him and Sam managed to duck and dodge his way around the angel, running into the hallway with the terrified infant in his arms.

He raced into the living room and saw two Deans battling one another. “Dean!” he called and they both looked up at him. “Teresa’s in danger,” he shouted.

One Dean took the moment’s distraction to land an upper cut on the jaw of the other and he tumbled to the ground. Bianca was pressed up against the furthest wall, hand in front of her mouth and tears streaming down her face. Sam wanted to comfort her but right now he had an avenging angel on his ass and he needed help.

“Cas!” he yelled. “Get your ass down here right the fuck now!” He backed away from Azrael who was walking steadily towards him.

“Gimme the kid, Sam,” one of the Deans demanded, holding out his arms. 

Sam was completely unsure which Dean this was so he shook his head. 

“Gimme the fucking baby!” Dean demanded again.

“No!” the other Dean called from the floor. “Insurance. Only way we’re getting out of here without the shifter ganking us.”

Sam looked at the two Deans and backed up to where Bianca was standing. “Hey,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder. “I need you to focus right now.”

Her eyes were dazed when she looked at him. “What the hell is going on?” she asked, voice thick with fear. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to save your child,” Sam told her and this got through. She held out her arms in demand and Sam gave the child to her. “Whatever happens, no matter what you see, don’t let go.” Sam met her gaze and she nodded. 

Her shoulders straightened and she wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. “I’m okay.” The statement was a little wobbly but she looked determined. “Thank you,” she said to Sam and he turned his back to her and faced Azrael.

“You’ll have to go through me,” he said and braced himself.

The Dean from the floor launched himself at Azrael, fingers like claws as he reached for the angel’s face. Azrael swatted him off and then put one foot on his chest as he lay there. “Monsters do not deserve to live,” Azrael said and suddenly a sword appeared in his hand and he plunged it down.

Sam heard Bianca scream behind him but all he saw was the silver spike disappearing into Dean’s chest. He couldn’t breathe. He felt his knees buckle and his throat constrict as he watched the light go out of his brother’s eyes.

Strong arms came around him then, held him up. “That’s not me, Sammy,” a low voice whispered and Sam turned his head to look into Dean’s - _his_ Dean’s - eyes.

“What is it, Sam?” Castiel’s question made all of them jump a little.

Bianca gave a small shriek and pressed herself harder against the wall, as though by pushing hard enough she and Teresa would be absorbed into the stone.

“Castiel, you should not be here,” Azrael paused in his forward momentum. “Brother, the Lord has no need of you in this matter.”

Castiel turned slowly, keeping a wary eye on Azrael. “It seems that you have forgotten your place, Azrael.” He pointed to where Colin lay. “This is not your business.”

Azrael blinked. “I am helping the Lord clean up the world,” he explained and Sam shuddered to see the emptiness behind his eyes. All this time spent with Azrael and he’d kept the insanity hidden well away.

“That is the Lord’s work,” Castiel remonstrated. “It is not your place to involve yourself with the doings of earth.”

“But if He allowed us to help,” Azrael held out his hands. “Think of how much we would be able to do.” He seemed so sincere that Sam wanted to believe him.

“We are meant to be neutral in the world of men,” Castiel’s face was terrible and beautiful and Sam remembered the angel he’d met when Dean had first come back from Hell.

“The Lord bade me watch over Sam Winchester and I obeyed.” Sam saw Dean look sharply at him but he was focused on the immediate danger of Azrael.

“Watch over him,” Castiel repeated. “That was _all_ you were supposed to do.”

“Lucifer told me once that humans were meant to worship us.” Azrael stared at Sam over Castiel’s shoulder. “I never believed him until I spent time with them.”

“You’re blaming me for turning into a psycho?” Sam asked, completely incredulous. 

“Grow a pair, asshole,” Dean growled. “Take a page from the human user’s manual and take responsibility for your actions.”

Sam looked at Dean and then down to where Dean’s hand still rested on his arm.

“Given free will and look at what you did with it.” Azrael was still looking at Sam. “When will He understand that humans are the abomination and not any of the beasts in Purgatory?” He addressed this to Castiel. “Why can’t he see that they are his greatest failure?”

“Because they are not,” Castiel said. “They are His greatest triumph. And if you had asked Him, then he would have told you why.”

“Sam Winchester?” Dean hissed in his ear. “What the fuck is that feathered freak talking about?”

“What I’ve been trying to get you to remember from the first time we met,” Sam told him. He looked back at Bianca. “If you want to live, I’d advise you to take Teresa and get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t understand,” Bianca looked at the body lying on the floor and then back up at Dean. “It’s you there but you’re here and you’re alive and dead and I don’t understand.”

"You learn to roll with the punches in this job,” Sam said. He reached out to touch Teresa’s cheek. “My job is to kill her but I can’t.”

Bianca clutched the baby tighter. “And Colin?” She looked at the body again. “That’s him?” 

Sam kept one eye on Azrael. “He wasn’t who you thought he was.”

Bianca nodded slowly. “I guess.”

Dean put a hand on her shoulder. “You should go.”

“The mother may leave but the monster must stay.” Azrael took a step towards them and Castiel blocked him.

“You have done quite enough, brother.” Castiel held up a hand. “It is time for you to return to the rest of the garrison.”

Azrael shook his head. “I have an assignment to complete before I go home.”

“You are done.” Castiel’s voice was pure steel.

“Not yet,” Azrael insisted and he sprang forward, slipping past Castiel’s guard.

Without thinking, Sam turned around and threw his arms around Bianca and Teresa, shielding them from the attack.

He felt the angel sword pierce him, carving through him without stopping. He sucked in a breath and felt the pain begin. He could tell straight away the wound was fatal.

Dean shouted and leaped at Azrael, demon blade out and slicing at the angel. Castiel reacted moments too late, pulling out his own sword and skewering Azrael. 

Sam felt the angel blade sliding out of him as Azrael fell. It was as though his insides were being pulled out with the sword and he hissed in agony.

He let Bianca go and staggered back, stumbling into the solid weight of Dean. “Sam?” Dean sounded terrified and Sam looked at him.

“Hey,” Sam greeted. “I think I might be in trouble, man.”

Dean turned his eyes to Castiel. “You have to do something, Cas. Heal him!”

Castiel’s face was twisted with grief. “I cannot heal the wound made by the blade of one of my brothers.” 

Sam dropped to his knees, lifting his hands to his chest. They came away violent red and wet. “Shit,” he said. “I think he may have hit something vital.” 

Dean grabbed onto him when he started to topple over. “You hang on, Sammy, you hear me?” He sounded desperate and Sam wanted to tell him that it was going to be okay. Because Dean didn’t remember him and he wasn’t important to Dean. Not in this life. This reality.

“Bianca?” Sam craned his neck to get a look at them. Bianca had slid down the wall, Teresa in her arms and was sitting there, staring down at the baby. “Dean, you need to go check on them.”

Dean was visibly reluctant to move but he went over to her and tugged at her arms. “Let me have a look, Bianca,” he urged.

She clutched at the horribly silent child and shook her head. “I don’t want to wake her up,” she said. “I can’t believe she managed to fall asleep in the middle of all of this.”

Dean looked over at Castiel. “Cas, do something. Please.”

Castiel dragged his gaze away from the body of his fallen brother. The dark tattoo of Azrael’s wings were burnt into the wooden floor. He made his way over to where Bianca was sitting. “Give me the child,” he said and held out his arms.

“No,” Bianca held Teresa closer. “I don’t know you.”

“Give me the child,” Castiel repeated.

Sam watched as Bianca’s hold loosened. Castiel was gentle with the baby as he lifted her up. Sam saw the blood. There was so much blood and he knew that the sword that had cut through him had hit Teresa as well.

“No,” he whispered. “That’s not fair.” 

Castiel lifted his head. “There is nothing that I can do for this little one,” he declared. “She has joined her father in the afterlife.”

Bianca made a terrible sound. It ripped out of her as though torn from the depths of her soul. Castiel closed his eyes. “I must care for her,” he told them.

Dean looked like he wanted to argue. Sam knew that it was pointless. “Help her get through this, Cas.” 

“I will see you in the halls of Heaven shortly,” Castiel said and he and Bianca vanished along with the broken and bloodied body of the baby girl.

“Let’s get you to the car,” Dean said, lifting Sam’s arm across his shoulders. “I think I spotted an emergency room a couple of blocks away. His voice was rough and strained. Sam knew that voice. It meant that Dean was about to break wide open.

“No, Dean,” Sam said. “I’m not going to make it. You need to let it go.” He pulled his arm down and leaned against the wall.

Dean shook his head. “I’m not going to accept that,” he said. “We’ve lived through worse than this, man.” He worked the buttons of Sam’s shirt open, wincing at the sight of all the blood. “Fucker stuck you good.”

“Hit something vital.” Sam’s head felt fuzzy and heavy.

“You said that already,” Dean told him.

“Doesn’t make it not true,” Sam said.

“Stop arguing with me and let me try to stop the bleeding.” Dean lifted the hem of Sam’s undershirt, sucking in a breath when he looked at the damage. “That looks like fucking shit.”

“Dean,” Sam tried again as Dean started tearing strips off Sam’s discarded shirt. “Stop.”

“Maybe if I can put enough pressure on it, the bleeding will stop and it will buy us enough time to get you to a hospital.” Dean was talking to himself, ignoring Sam, ignoring the reality.

“Dean,” Sam tried again and this time he coughed. The bright spittle of arterial blood told Sam that it wouldn’t be long. “I need you to remember, Dean.” He was out of time, out of luck and Dean was trying to play Florence Nightingale.

“Stop with the fucking memory schtick, douchebag and tell me who you are!” Dean’s terse orders belied the fear on his face as he pressed wads of cloth against the wound in Sam’s chest.

“I need you to remember me,” Sam’s voice slurred on the last word and Dean wiped a hand across his face. Sam watched him spread blood across his skin.

“I can’t,” Dean said and his voice broke. “I know you but I don’t. I remember you but you were never part of my life. All I know right this second is that you may be the most important person I’ve ever had in my life and I can feel you slipping away from me.”

“You won’t miss me if you never knew me,” Sam told him.

“Don’t you leave me, Sammy, don’t you dare leave me,” Dean warned him, gathering him into his arms and pulling him close. “I can’t lose you again.” Which made no sense at all.

“No chick flick moments, remember?” Sam joked and he didn’t remember another thing.

[](http://s1252.beta.photobucket.com/user/SACyd/media/BigBigBang2012/banner11.jpg.html)

Sam died again when he was thirty-one. Dean was thirty-five.

They'd been very kind to him when he came back to Heaven. Sam avoided Castiel, Chuck, all of them. 

He was just so fucking angry. Angry at Chuck for giving him so little time. Angry with Azrael for betraying him. Angry with Cas for not saving him. Angry with himself for not making Dean see who it was behind the eyes. 

But most of all he was so fucking angry with Dean. Dean who hadn't recognized him. Dean who'd made him fall in love with him all over again without even knowing him. Somehow that made it even worse in a way Sam couldn’t even explain to himself.

Most days, in his little slice of Heaven, he spent by the waters of a narrow creek that reminded him of the creek in Springfield. That they were the heavenly Waters of Life made them a little more interesting, but it was mostly because Sam found the sound of water soothing. Right now, he needed a fuckton of soothing.

“You can't avoid me forever,” Chuck's voice came from his right and Sam turned to look at him. 

“I'm going to give it one hell of a good try,” he said. He had eternity to deal with Chuck and his bullshit. He just needed time to get over being pissed off at everything.

“This is sort of my backyard.” Chuck smiled. “You did well, Sam.”

Sam gaped at him. “I failed!” he yelled. “I failed and now Dean is alone down there and I'm alone up here….” he bit back a frustrated growl that he knew would turn into tears if he let it.

“You didn't fail,” Chuck stepped closer and gentle warmth oozed into the chill of Sam's bones. “You would never fail Dean.” His hand fell onto Sam’s shoulder, surprisingly heavy. Even more surprisingly, it gave comfort.

Sam shook his head. “I don't understand,” he said. “I'm back here and Dean isn't and how can you say I didn't fuck it all up?” He pulled away, not yet ready to accept comfort or absolution.

Chuck placed his hand back on Sam's shoulder and shoved gently. It sent Sam tumbling into the river of ice-water. He yelped at the shock of it, spluttered and hauled himself back to the river bank where Chuck sat smiling.

“You know,” Sam said, teeth chattering, “You’re pretty bad at this God stuff.”

Chuck laughed, and far away thunder rolled across the sky. “Oh I do love you, Sam Winchester,” he said and then lifted his face to the sun. “Tell me, how long do you think you've been back in Heaven?”

Chuck's question caught Sam by surprise. “I don't know,” he said, trying to think. “A couple of days? A week maybe?”

A shake of the head told Sam that he'd miscalculated by a fair bit. “You've been back here for five seconds in earth time, Sam and I'm giving you your choice now.”

“I don't understand,” Sam stuttered and thought about his last memory, Dean holding onto him and begging him not to leave him again. “I’m dead. The bargain is null and void.”

“Eh,” Chuck gave a small shrug. “Dead, shmed. I'm God, remember.”

Sam still didn't understand. It obviously showed on his face as Chuck sighed. “You humans are so much hard work,” he complained. “After this I'm going to spend a little time in the Pegasus Galaxy.”

“The Peg...” Sam's eyes were wide. “Are you telling me that crap about Stargates is real?”

Chuck looked at him. “Focus, Sam,” he chided. “Not quite the right time to let your geek flag fly.”

Sam flushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“So, your choice,” Chuck said, sitting down on the grassy bank and folding his arms around his knees. By the time Sam had lowered himself next to Chuck, his clothes were dry.

“I thought that was part of the bargain.” He was seriously confused. “I go back to Dean and he has to remember me or I die for good this time?” Sam couldn't see where this choice thing came in.

“Dean recognized you, Sam,” Chuck told him. “When Azrael stabbed you and you protected the child, the last barriers in his mind broke down.” Chuck looked a little annoyed. “Sorry about Azrael, by the way. I would never have asked him to advise you if I’d known he was such a bigot.”

“You’re supposed to know everything.” Sam was still pretty pissed off about that. “You’re God.”

“I try not to use my omnipotence for petty shit,” Chuck said.

Sam snorted. “I _died_ ,” he pointed out.

“Only _after_ Dean realized who you were,” Chuck said patiently and something that felt a lot like hope sparked deep inside Sam.

“He knew who I was _before_ I died?” Sam asked and Chuck heaved a sigh and waved a hand and that final scene, those final moments appeared in the clear waters of the stream. 

_Azrael, pitiless and merciless at the door, determined to kill the child._

_The sword plunging down and slicing through skin and bone and Dean, not Dean, dying, lying at the feet of Azrael._

_Sam protecting the child and mother, shielding them with his body._

_The sword sliding into him, opening him up and killing Teresa._

_Looking into dead eyes and tiny hands swamped with blood._

_The sound of grief thundering from a mother's throat._

_Sam falling, falling, bleeding, hurting._

_“Don’t you leave me, Sammy, don’t you dare leave me,” Dean begging at his side, hands dripping with blood._

_“No chick flick moments.”_

_Sam dying as Dean’s eyes went wide and_ **remembering** _._

_Sheer horrified awareness as he looked into Sam's face and then his voice small and terrified. “Sam? Sammy? It's been you all this time and I never knew? How could I not know it was you?”_

_Dean screaming then. “Sammy, Sam, Sammy, no, no, not again, no, no!” until Sam couldn't look at it anymore and turned away._

“He knew me,” he said and realized that he was crying.

“Dean would know you if you were a tiny black woman who was a hundred years old,” Chuck said incongruously, but he smiled. 

“We’ve had some moments where that particular scenario wouldn’t be a stretch.” Sam felt his mouth go dry. “So now what?” he asked Chuck.

“So, now you have a choice,” Chuck said once more.

“What are my options?” Sam hedged and Chuck threw back his head and laughed.

“You Winchesters will be the end of me one day.” Then he sobered. “Your choices are here, in Heaven, waiting. Dean will join you in Heaven one day. I can tell you it won't be soon, but I swear that it will happen.”

“Or?” Sam asked. He wanted to see what his other option was, because life without Dean wasn’t life worth living.

“Or you go back down to that broken body lying in Dean's arms and try to put yourself together again. Try to keep Dean alive until one of you dies again.” Chuck sighed. “It's inevitable with you two.”

Sam gave a short laugh. “What's the catch if I go back to him?” There was always a fucking catch.

Chuck shook his head. “No catch,” he promised. “I just can't guarantee you'll both die at the same time. But no matter when it happens, I will try to ensure that you will be together in the same heaven.”

Sam's mouth quirked. “We're soul-mates, Chuck. I’ve heard that no matter what, we’ll always end up sharing the same heaven.”

Chuck stared at him. “And what moron told you that?” he demanded. He looked like he wanted to smite someone.

Sam took a step back, “Um, a friend?” He tried very hard not to think of Ash. He’d seen Chuck’s powers at work and reckoned that mind-reading wouldn’t be a problem for God.

Chuck threw up his hands. “Just when did I lose control of my creation?” he asked no one in particular. He looked back at Sam. “So, door number one, or door number two? What’ll it be, Sam?”

“I'd rather be with Dean on earth for five minutes, than alone in Heaven for five hundred years,” Sam said. He met Chuck’s somber gaze. “Please, send me back to him.” 

Chuck nodded. “You and Dean are way too predictable,” he said. “Always so ready to die for each other. Now, do me a favor and be just as ready to live for one another? Alright?”

Sam nodded, ready to promise anything if it meant returning to Dean. “As long as we’re together, we’re golden.”

Chuck touched his index finger to his forehead. “Don’t make me regret this,” he warned.

“I won’t,” Sam promised and woke up to excruciating pain. 

He gasped in agony, body folding over in an effort to protect itself. Dean lifted his head, his face streaked with blood and tears. “Sam?” he asked, eyes wild with joy and disbelief.

“Uh,” Sam groaned and hissed in pain when Dean pulled him into a fierce embrace. “Still have a bit of a hole in my torso,” he reminded Dean.

“Thought you were dead, again; god, Sammy, I couldn't deal.” Dean babbled into Sam's hair and Sam lifted aching arms and wrapped them around Dean and held on.

“It’s okay, Dean. I'm okay. We're alive.” He crooned soft assurances to Dean, who shook in his arms.

“You were dead, Sam,” Dean told him and pulled away. “You were dead, you've _been_ dead for a year, and now you're back, and I didn't even know you. I don't understand. How didn’t I know it was you?”

Sam looked down at the wound. Which was knitting closed in front of his eyes. “Huh,” he said and they watched as his body pulled itself back together.

Once the stab wound had closed completely, Sam let Dean help him up, every muscle yelping in protest as he got carefully to his feet. This was all going to hurt like a son of a bitch tomorrow. “I know that this is all pretty confusing, Dean. I swear, I'll explain it all later, but can we please just get the hell out of here?”

The crumpled body of Colin Daniels lay on the floor of the living room and Sam felt a pang of sadness. Colin had been a monster, would have raised Teresa to be a monster, utterly incapable of controlling her urges. But he’d seemed like a fairly good guy who had loved his family. Teresa had still only been a baby though. He’d known what she was but still felt the urge to protect her. And so had Dean.

They hobbled out of the house and made their way slowly to the Impala. Sam hazarded a look around the street and was puzzled to see that nothing seemed out of the norm. 

“Nobody came to see what the screaming was about?” He asked, hissing as Dean eased him into the passenger seat. 

“Cas popped back, just before you opened your eyes again, and told me he’d taken care of it.” Dean leaned over him, eyes concerned. “You okay?” Dean asked, his face almost touching Sam's.

“I'm good,” Sam said, leaning back against the seat. “I’m guessing Cas did the clean-up.”

Dean didn't say anything as he got into the driver’s seat and they headed back to Hartness House. He just kept stealing glances at Sam as though reassuring himself that Sam was still there, still alive.

“Stop that,” Sam grumbled, eyes almost closed. He could feel Dean’s intent gaze on him. It was an exact reversal of the situation they’d had on the way here. Only this time it was Dean who couldn’t stop staring at Sam. It felt good. Right.

“What?” Dean asked, but he turned his eyes guiltily back to the road.

“Staring at me,” Sam said. “'S creepy.”

Dean gave a little snort of laughter and shook his head. Sam reached over and wrapped his fingers around Dean's hand. They stayed like that all the way back to the Inn.

Rachel took one look at them and raced to run hot baths for them. “I expect you to tell me everything when you’re feeling better,” she said.

She ushered Dean into one bathroom and Sam into another. “You two look as if a cat dragged you through a hedge backwards.” She looked at Sam, a question in her eyes. 

He wearily started pulling off his shirt and gave her a tired smile. “Maybe about twenty cats. The big kind.”

She came up to him and stared into his eyes. “Something bad happened today.” It wasn’t a question.

Sam sat on the edge of the bath and ran a hand through his hair. “Dean and I had an encounter with some crazy guy in the woods.” He lied without conscience. 

He didn’t want to talk about Teresa and Colin Daniels. That news would be all too quickly heard. He and Dean would need to leave as quickly as possible. They really had to put distance between them and Springfield, despite Castiel having taken care of things on Hillcrest Road. The Daniels family would be reported missing soon enough. Sam couldn’t take the chance that someone remembered the black Chevy Impala parked in front of Colin Daniels’ home.

“Did he attack you?” Bianca asked. She was likely going to be on the phone to the rest of the town as soon as she left the bathroom.

Sam shrugged and the motion made him groan. Chuck had healed him but he hadn’t removed the ache from his limbs. Hitting a wall was never a good thing for the body. “Dean did his best to kick his ass, but he’s not much of a fighter.” He prayed that Dean never heard about him saying that or his ass would be worthless.

“He defended you like a good husband should,” Rachel said and then laughed when Sam just raised an eyebrow at her. “Alright, fine, you are not exactly a damsel in distress, but it is sort of sweet that he rushed to your defense.”

Sam smiled at her. “I’m four inches taller than him, Rachel. Trust me, he knows I don’t need him to protect me.”

“Well, I still think it’s adorable.” Rachel headed for the door. “Now, you just relax in your bath while I go and get Dean settled.”

Sam lay back in steaming hot fragrant water, feeling human for the first time in what felt like eternity. His mind didn’t want to shut off though. He kept seeing Teresa and Colin and Rachel. 

The terrible face of Azrael. 

Castiel’s sorrow at having to kill a brother. 

Getting another chance to be with his own.

Exhaustion claimed him eventually as the water cooled and the day turned to night. His eyelids drooped closed and he allowed himself to sleep.

Rachel shook him awake and handed him a towel and bathrobe. “I've made up the bedroom closest to the reception area. It’s also the nearest to my rooms, in case you need anything during the night,” she told him. “You boys can sleep there tonight and we'll take care of the rest of your things in the morning, alright?” 

He didn’t even feel the slightest bit of embarrassment as she helped him out of the bath. He put the robe on without drying off, too tired to even pick up the towel.

Sam gave her a slow, sleepy nod and then leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered and she went a little pink. Everything hurt and he was utterly exhausted.

“Off to bed now, young man,” she ordered. “I sent Dean to the room about ten minutes ago. It looked like he was sleep-walking.”

And just like that Sam was awake. The thought of Dean there, in bed, finally knowing who he was. There were explanations he had to make. It made him shake with nervous anticipation. There was nothing in this world that Sam feared, except Dean rejecting him.

The room was almost dark, only one bedside lamp burning, and Sam walked over to the bed where Dean was a lump under the covers. He sat down with a quiet groan, trying not to wake Dean. He tried to decide if he'd be okay just sleeping like this, sitting up, because his legs weighed about five thousand pounds and he was never going to get them up onto the bed by himself.

“Need a hand, Sam?” Dean's sleepy question startled Sam, who looked over his shoulder. Or tried to, anyway. He moaned at the neck spasm that seized him.

Dean was up and behind him in a heartbeat, hands warm and careful against his skin. Sam tried not to let himself lean into that touch too much. He wasn't sure what he was permitted to do anymore.

Dean’s hands worked careful miracles on Sam’s skin and his sure actions soon broke down the knot that had formed across Sam’s neck and shoulders. It felt nothing like the neck rubs they had exchanged in the past after a strenuous hunt. Sam heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks, man,” he said and smiled at Dean.

“That feel a little better?” Dean murmured into the quiet dark.

“When we retire, that’s the line of work you need to go into,” Sam told him. “Your hands have magic in them.”

“Good.” Dean’s gentle tone should have warned Sam because the next moment he was flat on his back, every muscle in his body protesting loudly at the rough treatment. Dean was looming over him, eyes very intent on his face. “Talk,” he ordered. “Tell me everything.”

And Sam did.

He told him about it all. About dying and watching Dean start drinking. Dean flinched a little but nodded for him to continue. He explained the deal with Chuck, what he had to give up to get this chance. He talked about the frustration of being with Dean and not being able to tell him who he was. Not without jeopardizing it all.

He told Dean about what had happened when he’d died _this_ time, what Chuck had offered. He told Dean what his final choice was, what it would always be. 

Everything. 

When his voice felt raw and tired, Sam stopped talking. Dean dropped his face into the crook of Sam's neck, carefully moving the rest of his body to one side so he wouldn't do any more damage to Sam's aching body.

“God, Sam,” Dean said eventually and his words were warm against Sam's skin.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed.

Dean pulled away and sat up, staring at Sam. “You gave up Heaven for me?” he asked. Sam looked up at him in surprise. 

Dean, the master avoider of deep and emotional and all things deemed ‘chick flick’ moments, actually wanted to talk about this. Sam wondered if Chuck had messed with him again. 

Sam bit his lip. “Not exactly,” he hedged. He didn’t really want to admit how unhappy he had been and always would be, being anywhere without Dean. It would give Dean too much power and Dean took advantage whenever he could.

Dean narrowed his gaze. “Then what _exactly_?” he asked, poking at Sam’s chest.

Sam shrugged the annoying finger off. Dean knew just what irritated him. “I kind of gave it up for me,” Sam admitted, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

Dean sat back and stared at him, legs on either side of Sam’s hips. “How'd you figure that?”

Sam really wanted to sit up, but his body was having nothing of it, so he clasped his fingers over his chest, feeling like an idiot. “ _I_ was the one who didn't want to be without _you_ , Dean,” Sam said and watched Dean's ears go a little red.

“It sorta works both ways for us, dude,” Dean said, looking uncomfortable at talking about feelings.

“I know that,” Sam agreed. “But I don't want to be anywhere you aren't. That's on me.”

“Aw, Sammy, you _missed_ me,” Dean crooned, and his eyes danced.

“Asshole,” Sam scowled and tried to buck Dean off, but his body was so sore he barely budged Dean. 

Dean’s smile was blinding. “You are a great big girl, you know that right?”

“God,” Sam groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

Dean shook his head slowly. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” he told Sam. 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Sam insisted. “You said you didn’t want to be without me either!” He could feel how hot his cheeks were. 

Dean sobered and he made small circles on Sam’s belly with an absent finger. “I almost drank myself to death when you were dead, Sam.” Dean's admission was soft, ashamed.

“I watched you doing it,” Sam told him. “It about killed me all over again.”

“You watched me?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “I apparently have a thing for pain.”

Dean’s hand flattened on Sam’s abdomen. “Every day, I cracked a bottle for you.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, remembering the empty chair and the beer left unfinished. “That was sort of what got me freaking out at Chuck.”

“So, Chuck sent you back but on condition that I remember who you were with no help from you?” Dean seemed satisfied with Sam's nod. “And if you failed then you’d be sent back to Heaven and carry on until I died or something?”

“Orpheus,” Sam reminded Dean. “I tried to give you clues.”

“You could give the angels a lesson in cryptic,” Dean said. Sam tried to ignore Dean’s hand on his skin but the robe had slipped open and Dean’s hand was hot and alive against him. “Angels are still dicks,” Dean said. “And Chuck really did a number on you, considering all we’ve done for him in the past.”

Sam tried to remember if he’d told Dean who Chuck was. “Chuck's not exactly an angel, Dean.” Sam waited until Dean was focused on him. “In case I didn’t make it clear when I told you how shit went down, Chuck is sort of the Big Guy in charge.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “No, shit!” he exclaimed. “You’re telling me that Chuck is God?” Sam realized this was a memory of the other life that Chuck hadn’t left with Dean. He hoped that he hadn’t fucked up again.

“One and the same,” Sam nodded. He stifled a yawn. Everything ached and all he wanted to do was sleep for about a hundred years. “Hey, Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean sounded distracted and was obviously still thinking about the Chuck thing.

“Can we continue the interrogation tomorrow maybe?” Sam asked. He turned in the circle of Dean’s arms, struggling a little to move onto his stomach. Eventually he managed it, Dean a warm presence at his back, and snuggled himself further under a billion count cotton sheets and a real goose down comforter.

“I'm not interrogating you!” Dean sounded affronted. Sam didn't bother lifting his head from the pillow.

“Go to sleep,” Sam mumbled into the pillow. “’m tired.”

“You realize that we haven’t talked about the elephant in the room,” Dean asked, his voice very low against Sam’s neck.

“No elephants,” Sam protested and then froze when he felt Dean’s hand at his hip. “Dean?”

“ _You_ knew I was and who you were even if I didn’t.” Dean didn’t sound mad. Sam wasn’t taking any chances though and tried to turn back around. Dean held him down. “Stay right where you are,” Dean warned.

Sam obeyed, years of conditioning had trained him to listen to a certain tone of voice from Dean without argument. “Dean -” Sam wasn’t sure what he could say to justify his actions.

“Shut up,” Dean whispered into his ear. “We’ve been fucked up since the day we were born, Sammy. What’s another sin to add to the pile?”

Sam shuddered as Dean dropped more of his weight against his back, all thoughts of sleep banished. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I took advantage of you, of the situation.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Dean growled. “We’re going to talk about this now and then never again, y’hear?”

Sam nodded frantically. “I wanted you from the time I was fourteen,” Sam confessed. “Only, I didn’t see it for what it was until I got older.”

Dean allowed Sam to turn in his arms and when Sam met his gaze he looked troubled. “What?” Sam asked.

“God, I felt like such a pervert growing up,” Dean said. “I could have had a girl in every town if I wanted. But all I ever saw was you.” Dean’s face was very serious. “You were this long, skinny, pretty thing and I wanted to mess you up so bad.”

“You chased me away a lot,” Sam reminded him. It still burned.

“Because the things I thought about you, the feelings I had for you.” Dean rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “We lived such a fucked up life, man. I thought there was something wrong with me so I kept you at arm’s length.”

“Why do you think I took the full ride at Stanford?” Sam asked, lifting himself onto an elbow and staring at Dean. “I thought I was a freak. So I left.”

“Ran away, you mean.” Dean bit his lip. “We come from such a crazy place, you and me. It feels right that the best relationship I’ve ever had is with you.” 

Sam nodded. “When I was in the Cage, Adam told me something. He said that the angels talked about us a lot, with the whole Lucifer, Michael thing.” Dean nodded. “Apparently those two had the same problem we did...do.”

Dean made a disgusted face. “Seriously? You want me to think about angel sex? Dude, that is a boner kill right there!”

Sam laughed and pressed his face into the curve of Dean’s shoulder. “Zachariah apparently thought that we were psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other.”

Dean made a proud noise. “Even angels recognized our awesomeness.”

“They saw that we were not normal, Dean.” 

“Define our normal, Sammy,” Dean challenged. “There is not one normal thing about our entire life.”

Sam rested a hand against Dean’s chest, against the anti-possession tattoo. “You’ve still got the amulet,” Sam noted, fingers tangling in the cord.

“Didn’t I throw it away?” Dean asked, his hand coming up to rub against the metal.

“Cas said it was a way to find God,” Sam said and his fingers wrapped around Dean’s. “Maybe this is Chuck’s way of giving us a mobile phone?”

Dean met his gaze and they both snorted with laughter. “Hey, if he listens in from now on, he’s going to get a surprise.” Dean tugged on the amulet and then slipped the cord up and over his head. “I’d rather not traumatize God with what I’m about to do to you.”

Sam felt his entire body go hot and then cold. “You have plans for me?” he asked. “Now?”

Dean’s smile was almost feral. “Oh yeah,” he said and he lifted a hand to pull Sam’s face nearer. 

He ran a hand over Sam’s cheek. “This face,” he murmured and Sam heard the words Dean had uttered what felt like eons ago.

“It’s just a face,” Sam whispered back, but he didn’t pull away. He moved closer, pressing up against Dean’s side.

“I’ve seen this face in my dreams.” Dean met his gaze and it was such a Dean look. Direct, intent, determined. “Even when I didn’t know who you were and what you meant to me.”

Sam couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. “Dean -”

Dean kissed him, mouth soft and warm. “My Sam, always, _my_ Sammy.” The words were muffled against his lips but they gave Sam a thrill.

Sam pulled his head back. “You’re not mad at me for…you know?” He motioned between them.

“You having the balls to reach out and take the brass ring?” Dean asked. “Acting on what’s been between us for most of our lives?” He shook his head. “No, I’m not mad at you for taking the chance for the both of us.”

Sam let his body relax into the kiss again. “I love you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Dude, seriously?”

Sam glared at him. “Could you _not_ be an asshole for a minute and just say it back?”

Dean flopped back onto the bed, sighing dramatically. “I swear, man, if this is what I’m going to have to put up with -” Sam shut Dean up in the most effective way he knew.

They kissed for long, lazy moments until their mouths were puffy and a little raw. Sam held Dean down with the weight of his body until Dean started squirming away. “You’re like five hundred pounds,” he complained.

Sam shook his head. “And you call _me_ an emo bitch.”

“Blow me,” Dean said with a grin.

“If you insist,” Sam said and he put a hand on Dean’s boxers. Dean’s eyes went very wide. “How about we lose thes first?” He looked at Dean. “I don’t want to be the only one naked here.”

And Dean, who pretended to be stupid sometimes and acted as though he never got subtlety, got Sam’s meaning. “Okay.”

He wriggled out of the t-shirt and boxers he’d been wearing and Sam tossed the bathrobe to the floor. When they faced each other again, they were naked, skin touching skin for the first time.

Sam closed his eyes at the contact. Dean had been his everything almost all of his life and it was almost incomprehensible to be here with him. Now. Like this.

“You mentioned something about blowing?” Dean said and Sam snorted a laugh. 

He shimmied down the bed until his face was level with Dean’s hips. Dean was sucking his stomach in and Sam hid a smile. He let out a long, slow breath, damp air hitting Dean’s cock and was pleased at the immediate reaction.

“Don’t be a cock tease.” Dean’s voice was a breathless growl and Sam leaned in and licked the tip of Dean’s cock. Dean’s hips jerked and Sam threw an arm over Dean’s thighs to keep him in place.

“Shut up and hold still if you don’t want me to stop,” Sam warned.

He slanted a glance up at Dean and almost laughed out loud when he saw Dean biting his lip to keep quiet. He grabbed one of Dean’s hands and placed it on his head. “Hold on, baby, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.” Dean’s fingers dug in and held on to the long strands of Sam’s hair.

“Oh you fucking little shit!” Dean howled and shoved his other fist into his mouth as Sam went to town. 

He didn’t have much experience in giving blowjobs, but he knew what _he_ liked, so he put it to practice on Dean. The noises that Dean was making behind his fist told Sam that he wasn’t doing too badly for a novice.

Sam tasted the precome leaking from Dean’s slit and it was salty and slightly bitter. He swallowed Dean’s cock down as far as he could, until he felt the head bump the back of his throat. He pulled away, gagging slightly, and Dean’s hand tightened in his hair.

“You okay?” Dean asked and Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” he rasped, feeling as fucked out as Dean looked. “Way different giving one than getting one.”

Dean shrugged. “I’ll return the favor later,” he promised. 

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he hated that Dean was so blasé about this. “Given a lot of blowjobs, huh?”

Dean looked at him. “Really?” He shook his head. “You going to be a jealous girl every time I talk about sex with other people?”

“Maybe.” Sam wrapped his fingers around Dean’s cock, and started a slow, rhythmic slide. “Depends.”

Dean threw his head back against the pillows, his neck and chest one long and lovely arch. “On what?” he gasped as Sam lowered his head again.

“On how it compares with me.” 

Sam took Dean apart with lips and tongue. He reached down and cupped Dean’s balls in his hand, hefting the weight of them in his palm. Dean groaned and begged but Sam was ruthless. He ran one fingertip around Dean’s hole, slower and slower until Dean tugged hard on his hair.

“I will end you,” Dean gritted out, and Sam grinned around the girth of Dean’s cock in his mouth. His spit ran in messy rivers down Dean’s cock, onto his balls and down his crack. It wasn’t nearly enough lubrication, but Sam went for it anyway, pressing the tip of his index finger into Dean’s hole, feeling the slight give of tight muscle.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Dean’s threat was cancelled out at the slow slide of Sam’s finger into him. 

“Too much?” Sam asked, holding still.

“Lube is your fucking friend, Sammy.” Dean glared at him. “Get some or get the fuck out of my ass.”

Sam laughed but obeyed, pulling his finger carefully out of Dean and rolling off the bed with only the smallest groan as his aching muscles reminded him that he wasn’t actually up for exertion tonight. “You got anything?” he asked Dean.

“Are you going to give me a hard time if I say yes?” Dean countered.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes or no, dickhead?”

“Backpack, side zip pocket.” Dean lay back. “And move your fucking ass.”

Sam collected the small bottle of lube and a couple of condoms and headed back to the bed.

Dean looked at the condoms and then at Sam. “Ambitious about your recovery time, dude?” 

“No.” Sam knelt on the bed and flipped open the bottle, pouring a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. “I figured that I could fuck you first and then later, you could fuck me.”

Dean’s mouth fell open. “You…I…what?”

Sam reached down between Dean’s thighs again and smeared some of the lube around Dean’s hole. “You…me…fuck?” He smirked at the noise Dean made. 

“Good?” he asked.

“Better.” Dean wasn’t going down without a fight. He looked down at Sam’s cock. “That might break me in half.” He didn’t sound terribly afraid at the prospect.

“Only if I do it right,” Sam said and pushed in with one finger.

Dean arched up, hissing out as Sam breached him. The fit was tight and Sam wondered briefly whether he actually might break Dean. “Too much?” he asked.

Dean shook his head. “’Sokay,” he said. “Just not something I’m used to.”

Sam moved his finger a little, working it in so that he could try and loosen Dean up. “Tell me when to add another,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean opened one eye and fixed him with a look. “I’m not a girl, man, I won’t break if you aren’t gentle.”

Sam took him at his word and put a second finger in. Dean sucked in a surprised breath and tensed for a moment. “It’ll hurt less if you relax,” Sam said.

“Oh fuck you,” Dean said. “Psayback a bitch, bitch.”

Sam experimented for a moment, moving his fingers around, trying to find the spot that he’d read –

Dean made a strangled noise and came hard, coating his chest and splattering Sam’s a little too. Sam felt a certain amount of pride as he looked at Dean lying wrecked on the bed.

“Holy shit, where did you learn that stuff?” Dean demanded when he could form coherent sentences again.

“The internet,” Sam said and pressed a hand against his own cock. “It’s not just for porn, you know.”

Dean’s smile was wicked. “But in this case, it totally was, right?” He looked down to where Sam was jacking his own cock. “Need a hand there, Sammy?”

Without waiting for a reply, Dean wrapped his hand over Sam’s, fingers linking together around Sam’s cock. They jerked him off together, almost painfully slow, until Sam came over their fists with a shout.

Sam collapsed back onto the pillows, chest heaving and Dean followed him down, curled around him like a human apostrophe. Sam ran a palm across Dean’s back, pulling him close until they were pressed together from shoulder to calf.

“Why aren’t you more freaked out about us, about this?” Sam asked when he got his breath back. “Incest isn’t exactly something that most people are okay with, you know.”

Dean shrugged against him, nose pressed into Sam’s neck. “You’re it for me,” he said. “Maybe the world thinks we’re fucked up. Hell, _I_ think we’re fucked up. But I’d rather be fucked up _with_ you than without you.”

Sam’s heart danced a little at the words. “Aw, baby, you love me, you really love me,” he said over the lump in his throat.

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Bitch,” he said, warm breath on Sam’s skin.

“Jerk,” Sam whispered and sent a mental thank you to Chuck. 

“Thanks for coming back for me,” Dean said and Sam could feel the curve of his smile against his neck.

“You can pay me back by never watching cartoon porn again,” Sam said.

Dean laughed again. “Anime, asshole, it’s classy shit.”

“Cartoon. Porn.” Sam wasn’t about to give up his advantage. 

“Oh my god,” Dean groaned, and grabbed a pillow to put over his face. “You are going to be the fucking death of me, aren’t you, Sammy?”

Sam pulled the pillow and Dean’s hands away.

“No, Dean.” He leaned down and kissed Dean, hard and filthy. “I’m going to be the life of you.”

******************

 **DEAN:** _So everyone gets their own slice of Heaven?_  
 **ASH:** _Pretty much. A few people share. Special cases. Whatnot._  
 **DEAN:** _What do you mean 'special'?_  
 **ASH:** _Oh, you know, like soul mates._

**”Again, this is explicit. Sam and Dean are only able to share the same Heaven because they are a 'special case'.**

**The Ancient Greek concept of soul mates as posited by Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium tells us that human beings were originally created with two faces, four arms and four legs, but that the Gods, fearful of their power, split them in two. Therefore, people are destined to search for the missing part of them – the other half which makes them whole. Virtually all mythologies, religions and belief systems have a similar creation story: Chinese, Jewish, Egyptian, Sumerian, Maori. Given that Supernatural draws from so many of these myths, it is reasonable to assume Ash's implication is that Sam and Dean are somehow soul-bonded.”**


End file.
